


Determinant: One choice will change everything

by Windchimed



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Allegiant Alternate Ending, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Post-Insurgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 165,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windchimed/pseuds/Windchimed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Even now, I feel the electrical pull that every touch creates with her.  And I know it’s unique to her, something I’ll never feel with anyone else.  I pull away, knowing if I stay any longer I’ll never have the strength to do this.”  Full-length alternate 3rd book with a completely original plot and a very satisfying ending.  Works instead of "Allegiant" or after it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Tris – Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Divergent" or "Insurgent" or "Allegiant" or the characters, dialogue, plot lines, etc. that came from those books. All of that belongs to Veronica Roth.
> 
> Credit: The cover art was kindly donated by A.J. Smith. Thank you, A.J.! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who made such a difference throughout this story!
> 
> A/N: "Determinant" is consistent with the following stories by Veronica Roth:
> 
> \- Divergent
> 
> \- Insurgent
> 
> \- Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Knife-Throwing Scene
> 
> \- Four: The Transfer: A Divergent Story
> 
> It is not consistent with "Allegiant" since it is designed to be an alternative to that book. It is also not consistent with the later "Four" stories, since I finished it before they were published.
> 
> With that in mind, please read and enjoy... And please, please take the time to review as you read. I really love reviews! They motivate me to keep writing in the "Divergent" world, and they never fail to make my day. Thanks!

[dih-tur-muh-nuhnt]

noun

1\. A factor that decisively affects the nature or outcome of something

2\. Biology: a gene or other factor that determines the character and development of a cell or group of cells in an organism, a set of which forms an individual's idiotype

3\. Mathematics: a quantity obtained by the addition of products of the elements of a square matrix according to a given rule

adjective

1\. Serving to determine or decide something

* * *

**Chapter 1: Tris – Aftermath**

The shouts fill the room, making it impossible to understand a word as everyone demands answers at once. I had forgotten how many Candor were here, but now their loud voices are everywhere. Briefly, I remember Tobias' first words to Christina, complaining about Candor smart-mouths, and I think maybe he's right.

His hand grips mine tightly as he looks around the room, his eyes wide and alarmed. I'm too short to see consistently through the crowd, but I catch glimpses here and there as people move around, opening small pathways of visibility. Through one of those, I see Evelyn. She's still standing by Jeanine's body, and the fury on her face sends a shiver down my spine. In that instant, I'm certain that she already knew about this video and that she didn't want it shown.

Maybe that's why she was so insistent on destroying Erudite's information. But if so, she must not have shared that fact with her son, because his expression makes it clear he just saw this video for the first time. Something warm and sweet spreads through me at the realization. _He didn't watch it first, before showing it to everyone._ He must have trusted my judgment even after he felt I betrayed him….

For a second, that thought is enough to distract me from everything around us, but then the noise filters back in, and it occurs to me how much danger we're still in.

I pull on Tobias' hand to get his attention, and he leans close to hear me.

"We need to get out of here," I say.

"Yes, we do," he answers grimly, looking as concerned as I feel. His eyes roam the room one more time, evaluating our options, and then his face sets in a determined expression. Turning toward Christina and Cara, he says, "Come on."

Cara clambers to her feet immediately, and Christina struggles to join her, maneuvering her injured leg so she can stand. Tobias hesitates, watching her, before reaching down to pull her up and sliding an arm around her to support her weight. The sight sends an unexpected and totally irrational pang of jealousy through me. It's ridiculous, and for a moment I don't even know why I feel it, but then I figure it out. _He almost never touches anyone else._ He helped Will and Shauna when they were injured, and now he's helping Christina for the same reason, but other than that, he only touches me. How did I never notice that before?

But this isn't the time to think about it. I shake my head a little, clearing it, and force myself to focus as Tobias laces his free hand with mine and leads us toward the back of the room.

We don't get far before one of the factionless soldiers blocks our path, gun held out menacingly. Tobias gives her a cold look as he says, "They're here by mistake. They're not traitors." He gestures toward Christina with his chin and adds, "I'm taking her to get medical attention."

The soldier looks uncertain, her eyes moving between us as she clearly debates how to proceed. As a guess, she's trying to decide whether she's more likely to get in trouble for letting us go or for stopping Evelyn's son. Finally, she steps aside, letting us pass. I can't blame her. There's no way to consult anyone else in this chaos, and the name Tobias Eaton is powerful here.

We're halfway across the room when Uriah joins us. Lynn's blood still spots his shirt, and his eyes are bloodshot from crying, but he gives me a small smile and walks with us unquestioningly. Behind him, I see Tori watching us, her eyes narrowed. Her gaze rests on Tobias for a moment, and I see hatred in the set of her mouth. Of course she would feel that way. Evelyn betrayed Dauntless by announcing the end of the factions, and here Tobias is walking away freely. She must believe that Evelyn's son was in on the plot. I think she's probably right.

Tori's eyes meet mine, and for a second I'm sure that she's going to sound the alarm on us. After all, I just reinjured her leg to keep her from killing Jeanine. But instead Tori nods stiffly and turns away, and I understand why. There's an expression so old I don't even know where I learned it, but the look on Tori's face tells me it applies now. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._ I acted against Evelyn by releasing that video, so Tori will let me walk out of here today.

Resolutely, I turn my gaze forward again, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach. After everything Tori has done for me, I hate the idea of this being the only bond between us, but for now I have to accept it.

Tobias leads us to an exit in the back corner of the room. Two more factionless guards stand there, one on either side of the door, but unlike the earlier soldier, they don't try to stop us. Instead, they nod to Tobias before letting us pass between them and out of the building.

Cold wind blasts us as we walk outside, but we keep moving, getting away while we can. This doesn't feel real – it was too easy to escape – and I expect someone to chase us down any second now.

"Where should we go?" I ask quietly, anxious to get off the streets and out of sight.

To my surprise, it's Christina who answers. "How about my family's apartment in Candor?"

Tobias hesitates, and I wonder if he has another suggestion, but then he nods. "We won't be able to stay there for long – it's not safe enough. But we can at least pick up supplies and plan our next move."

No one objects, so we turn at the next block, beginning to make our way toward Candor. We walk in silence for a few minutes before Uriah offers to take a turn helping Christina. I can't help but smile at how quickly Tobias trades places with him. He _really_ doesn't like to touch anyone except me.

Uriah picks up on my smile, flashing a quick grin in response. "So," he asks almost cheerily, "are we outlaws now or what?"

"Maybe," Tobias answers, one side of his mouth twitching upward. "But I am Tobias Eaton after all."

* * *

Christina's family has a surprisingly large apartment, or maybe it just seems that way since I've only ever seen Abnegation houses and Tobias' small apartment at Dauntless.

They have two bedrooms, one with a bed that seems massive to me and one with two beds the size of mine back in my parents' house. Christina and her sister must have shared that room before Christina transferred. There's also a nicely decorated living room, a huge kitchen, a dining room, and what seems almost like a second living room. I can't quite picture how it would be used in daily life.

Christina sits on the couch, a bandage wrapped around her leg – the results of Cara's careful ministrations. The rest of us are draped around the living room, staring at each other in exhaustion. By now, it's dark out, and it's been an intense day, but we can't rest yet.

"We should plan to leave tonight or tomorrow morning, before dawn," Tobias tells us. "We'll need medical supplies, blankets, food, clothing…enough for a few days at least. Christina, where can we get those?"

Before she can answer, I address Tobias. "Where are we going?"

His expression is grim as he responds. "Initially, to an abandoned building. Somewhere with no one else. That'll be the safest place for now. In the morning, I'll talk to my mother and see where things stand, and then we'll figure out a longer-term plan."

No one suggests a different idea, and eventually I nod. Christina begins describing where we can find supplies, and we all set out to retrieve them. Tobias goes with me to get the blankets, since that's a two-person job.

The supply room is unlocked. I guess the Candor are too honest for theft. Things weren't locked in Abnegation, either – there, everyone was too selfless to take something they didn't need. I smile a little at the thought.

"What?" Tobias asks, and I realize I was looking in his direction as I smiled.

"Nothing, really," I reply. "I was just trying to imagine my parents stealing blankets. Or anyone from Abnegation stealing anything. Well…except us."

Tobias looks at me, a sad smile quirking his mouth. "That's my girl. Selfless enough to offer her life to save strangers but too selfish to freeze at night." I wince at the words. He hasn't pressed me about giving myself up to Jeanine, but I know it's because he feels I've been through enough already, not because it didn't hurt him.

I don't know what to say. When they injected me with what I thought was death serum, I realized that I didn't want to die after all, but I still think I did the right thing in going to Erudite. I couldn't let people continue to die, and I couldn't let Tobias go in my place.

"Yeah, well, as it turns out, I'd prefer to live," I finally say. Tobias steps closer to me, his eyes searching mine, and I suspect he's trying to figure out if I'm lying or not. I suppose I deserve that, after lying to him so many times.

After a long while, he replies in a low voice, "I'd certainly prefer that too." And he fits his mouth gently to mine. I wrap one hand around the back of his neck and let the other move through his hair, holding him to me as the kiss deepens. After everything that has happened today, I just want to be close to him for this moment.

I'm not sure how much time passes before we finally pull apart. "I know we need to talk more," I say, meeting his eyes. "Soon. But for now, maybe we can just both agree to be honest with each other. No more lying and no more hiding stuff."

Tobias' expression is hesitant, and he takes a long time to think about his response. Finally, he says, "I've spent my entire life keeping secrets, Tris. You may not realize this, but I've revealed more of them to you than to anybody else, ever. I really have. But it's hard – every time, it's hard to do that, and I find myself keeping them again no matter how much I try not to." He sighs, kneading at the back of his neck.

"I know it causes problems," he continues, and his voice is rough now. "I know it's not fair to you, and I even know it's part of why you keep lying to me. But I don't know how to be any other way." His eyes are intense and desperate on mine.

For a moment, I think about what his life has been like. His father abused him for so many years, and for whatever reasons, he felt compelled to hide that abuse. His mother faked her death, and when he found out she was alive, he had to keep that secret hidden, too, to keep her safe. I don't know when he learned he was Divergent, but he's been hiding that ever since, along with hiding that same fact for every initiate who revealed their own Divergence to him during simulations. And then when he realized he liked me, he couldn't show that to Eric, so it became something else he had to hide.

That was the base of secrets he already had when his mother convinced him to work with her. And then he layered on more in that process.

But the thing is…I already know about all that, and he's still looking at me that way. So, what else is he hiding?

"Are you telling me that you have even more secrets? _Still?_ "

He looks away, and I think he must be struggling with himself. Eventually, he looks at me again and says heavily, "I traded Dauntless for you. Evelyn wanted to get rid of the factions completely, and that was the price she demanded for speeding up the timeframe. You know, so they'd attack before you were supposed to be executed." His expression is bitter. "And then Jeanine moved up the execution, and it all would have been for nothing if Peter and Caleb hadn't helped you."

I stare, more shocked by his last revelation than anything else. "Caleb?" I say loudly. "What's he got to do with anything?"

Tobias shakes his head. "I shouldn't have said that. It's probably not even true…. But when I made him access Jeanine's computer, he told me that he helped Peter fake your execution." He pauses and then adds, "I'm usually good at telling when people lie, but it's harder when my emotions are strong, and that was…well…right after you accused me of not loving you…." His voice trails off, and he looks away again.

I don't know what to think. I want to believe that Caleb helped me. I really do, but if it's true, then I just left him in Erudite headquarters to be tried as a traitor.

"You were wrong, by the way," Tobias says, swallowing hard. "I do love you." His voice is rough with emotion. "More than I've ever loved anyone. More than I thought I could." He closes his eyes and adds, "When I was under the simulation, I thought you were dead. I guess that was the only way the program could get me to leave you behind and go back to Dauntless, so it tricked me into thinking that. And I couldn't bear it. I couldn't face the thought of that becoming real, so when you surrendered to Jeanine, I did whatever it took to save you. That was all I could think about."

There's shame on his face, but I'm too stunned to say anything. I thought he helped Evelyn because he believed in getting rid of the factions, not because he couldn't stand to have me die. I think back to the expression on his face when he told me that he wouldn't be all right without me, that it was a lie to say he would be. I should have recognized his desperation, but I was so convinced that I had to die to make up for my parents' sacrifice, to make up for shooting Will, that I couldn't see anything except what I already believed. Ironically, I was too selfish to see what my great act of selflessness did to him.

I reach out and take his hands gently. His dark eyes lock on mine as he waits for me to pass judgment on him.

"While we're being honest," I say quietly, "I should tell you that a large part of why I surrendered to Jeanine is so you wouldn't go. Because I love you, too."

He laughs bitterly. "Great. So, how do we go forward, then? We seem to end up in every dangerous situation in this city, and now it turns out there are dangers outside the city just waiting for us, and it's obvious that you're exactly who Amanda Ritter said they want."

I nod slowly, because I know he's right. None of the serums worked on me, no matter how hard Jeanine tried, and I know without being told that the group Amanda Ritter mentioned needs people like that. People who can resist whatever made those eyes turn blank and dead in the video as their bodies turned into murderers.

"I'm not someone who can sit back and let other people face all the danger," I say. "Particularly when I'm the person who's supposed to face it."

Tobias' posture sags a little, and he sounds resigned as he says, "I know. And I love that you're so brave. I really do... It's just that I've thought I lost you twice now, and I think a third time would kill me."

For a long moment, we just look at each other. I know what he means, because when I think about the idea of losing him, of having his life seep out of him, I want to lock him up somewhere safe and never let anyone near him ever again. But we live in a dangerous world, and we need to find a way to face those dangers.

"I guess we go together," I finally say. "If we leave the city, we do it together, and we face whatever comes as a team. No more secrets. No more lies. No more unnecessary risks. Just the ones that really need us."

Tobias hesitates another moment, but then he nods, swallowing hard again. "Okay," he says.

"You don't have any _more_ secrets, do you?" I ask.

He gives a little, nervous laugh. "Not really."

"That's not very convincing," I say, but my lips twitch upwards at his expression.

He steps closer, leaning toward me so his face is by mine and his breath tickles my ear. "Well, there may be a couple more, about how you make me feel, and what I'd like to do with you, but I figure I'll share those later."

My breath catches at his proximity, and his scent, and his words hot against my cheek. I'm always aware of Tobias, but sometimes, his presence is almost overwhelming. This is one of those times.

I reach up, sliding my fingers through his hair as I turn to face him, pulling him to me and pressing my mouth to his. His arms wrap around me, his hands moving slowly down my back as he holds me tightly against him, responding with an enthusiasm that matches my own.

For a few minutes, we kiss with an energy that fills me and makes me forget everything else. There's nothing but him him him and I don't care about anything else. Finally, he pulls back with a reluctant expression, his breathing hard and ragged.

"We have a lot to do," he says, and it sounds like it's difficult for him to talk. It must be difficult for me to talk, too, because nothing comes out of my mouth in response, and I simply nod. There's an empty ache where his body was, and I feel suddenly cold without his heat pressed against me. Moments like _that_ seem to feel better each time we have them, and I know that the time is coming when I won't want to stop with just kissing. But we're not quite there yet.

"Okay," I say at last, remembering why we came here in the first place. I begin filling my arms with blankets and add, "I'll let you keep those particular secrets a little longer then."

He smiles as he gathers his own pile of blankets. "No, you've convinced me. No more secrets. I'm just going to have to share them. That's clearly the best policy."

"Well," I say as I head out the door, barely able to see over the blankets. "I guess a rule's a rule…."


	2. Chapter 2: Tobias – Entering the Fire

**Chapter 2: Tobias – Entering the Fire**

I wake up at three-thirty, as I have every morning since Tris went to Erudite headquarters. That's what time it was when I woke up and found her gone, and it's now imprinted on my brain better than any alarm clock.

She's still lying next to me, curled on her side, and for a moment, I just wrap an arm around her and hold her close. It's always amazing to me how much strength I draw from her presence. I could actually fall back asleep now, for once, but it's time to get up. When we returned to the apartment last night, the others were already asleep, and Tris convinced me we should wait until the early morning before relocating.

I place my mouth close to her face and say gently, "It's time to wake up." She groans and swats at me, but I catch her hand and add, "Tris. We need to get up now." She sits up with a sigh, running her fingers through her hair. It's been growing longer again, though it will take years to reach its former length, if she even decides to let it grow.

"Are the others up yet?" she asks groggily.

"No," I answer. "I thought I'd let you have the joy of waking them."

There's very little light in the room, so I can't see her expression, but she shifts to the side of the bed and gets up. At first, it seemed kind that the others left us the room with the big bed, and I know I slept better with Tris next to me, but it felt strange sleeping on such an enormous mattress. We spent the night tucked into one corner of it, like we'd lose each other in the vastness if we stretched out more. I suppose it's another Abnegation instinct – it feels selfish to use something bigger than we need.

We make our way out of the dark room, and Tris goes to the room next door to rouse Christina and Cara. I walk to the couch where Uriah is sprawled, half his body trailing to the floor. I'm not really sure why he joined us when we escaped. He didn't have to, since he hadn't been labeled a traitor, and in a way I would have preferred him to stay at Erudite headquarters. That way, we would have had another friend inside, and he would have been safer. I still feel an obligation to Zeke to keep his brother safe. He's never said anything to me about it, but it's the kind of thing friends do for each other.

"Uriah," I say loudly, shaking his shoulder, and he jumps. "That's enough beauty sleep."

He drags all the parts of himself together and shifts to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe that's enough for you," he says, "but some of us are prettier and need more sleep to stay that way." I grin – it's hard not to like Uriah. He and Zeke share the same sense of humor, and after years of being so isolated, I find I really enjoy laughing with them.

"So, why exactly do we have to leave?" Uriah asks as he gets to his feet, stretching in a way that makes the whole room seem full of his limbs.

"Because the factionless will be clearing the building soon, and I don't want them to catch our little group of traitors."

"Clearing the building?" Cara asks as she helps Christina down the hallway from the second bedroom. Christina has a crutch now, but she's clearly not good at maneuvering it yet. Cara is hovering by her, her hand reaching forward and jerking back spasmodically with every step Christina takes. "Why would they do that?"

I sigh. I told Tris the truth last night, but I didn't really want the others to know I was part of the factionless plan. Still, I suppose they're entitled to answers if they're going to follow me into the unknown.

"Because they want to eliminate all the factions," I reply heavily. "So they're planning to gather everyone together in the Erudite compound, group them into new living units, and distribute them across the various faction buildings. I think they'll probably go to Amity first, since most of the Candor are already at Erudite, but they'll come here soon enough to collect anyone who's left."

"You mean, the Divergent population," Tris comments as she emerges from behind Christina. Her expression is alert now, her eyes alive with that look that always draws me to her. I step closer to her automatically but then stop, remembering our focus here.

"Yes, the Divergent who didn't reveal themselves when Jack Kang asked them to. Everyone else is presumably dead or at Erudite now."

There's a long pause after that comment, and then Tris says, "Maybe we should warn them."

"About what?" I ask. "They're not in any danger from the factionless. In fact, they're probably safer now than they've ever been. We're the ones who need to hide."

Christina looks down at her leg and says, "You know, maybe we should take our chances at trial. I mean, we didn't really do anything that wrong…."

"We showed the video," Tris answers for me. "And Evelyn definitely did not like that." For a moment, I just look at Tris. I hadn't quite figured out why I felt so compelled to get them out of there. I assumed it was just because I didn't want Tris back in an Erudite cell, no matter what the circumstances around it might be, but now I realize she's right. My mother is certainly not the forgiving type, and the expression on her face yesterday was disturbing. I haven't seen her that angry in a long time, and I definitely do not want that anger directed at Tris.

"You know what?" I say. "Let's get moving. We can talk more when we're somewhere safer." I look at the pile of supplies and realize it will take at least three trips, particularly since Christina can't carry anything and someone will have to keep their hands free to help her. "Let's start with a light load first and find a location, and then a few of us can come back for the rest."

* * *

It takes us close to two hours to find a suitable abandoned building and to get everything moved into it. I'm careful to make sure we're not followed. Years of avoiding the Dauntless cameras has made me good at moving without being noticed, but the others are too careless, and Christina is impossible to hide. I'm glad we're moving in the dead of night.

Once everyone is settled in, I pull Tris to the side. "I'm going to go talk to my mother," I tell her. "I'll wait until it's safe to come back here, so it might be after dark." I don't want her to worry about me and come looking.

"I want to go with you," she says immediately, and I can't help but chuckle.

"That would kind of defeat the point of hiding you from her," I respond.

She considers that for a moment and then says, "But we're supposed to face things together. That's the deal, right?"

I shake my head. "That doesn't apply to this. It's not dangerous for me to talk to my mother, but it would be an unnecessary risk for you to go."

It's too dark to see her face, but I can sense her hesitation. Finally, she says, "I just need to know about Caleb. I need to know if he really helped me or not, and what they're going to do to him."

"I know," I say gently. "I'll find out. I'll talk to Peter or something, and then we'll figure out what to do. Together. Okay?"

"Okay," she says after a moment, and then she finds my face in the darkness and kisses me. It's a light kiss, but I pull her into my arms and kiss her back more firmly. I'm not going into danger, but after the last few weeks, I still feel like every kiss could be our last. I won't squander the opportunity to kiss her like I mean it.

* * *

It's not that long a walk to Erudite, not nearly long enough for my comfort. I wish we were miles away, but of course Christina isn't up to the walk.

As I get closer, I begin to see factionless soldiers patrolling the streets. They stare at me openly but let me pass. That's a good sign; it means that my mother hasn't issued any orders regarding me. I know she'll be angry that I disappeared, and that I took the others with me, but at least she's presumably still willing to talk.

I enter Erudite headquarters, my stomach clenching at the familiar sight. I've entered this room twice now – once when I turned myself in to join Tris, walking through here with pain twisting my body and mind, and once as we shot our way through innocent people to wrest control from Jeanine. I'd be happy never to see this place again.

I pause next to one of the factionless guards by the door. She's dressed in an Erudite blue shirt with Amity red pants, and a tattoo climbs up her neck and disappears into her gray hair. She was probably Dauntless before she grew too old to live there. She brings to mind everyone the faction system discarded, and I remember that I don't really disagree with my mother on the need to change things. It's just a question of how to do it.

The guard's eyes widen a little in recognition as she looks at me, and I smile briefly at her. "Where are the Dauntless sleeping?" I ask casually.

Her mouth puckers as she considers her answer, and then she says, "I'll take you there. I'm not good at giving directions."

She leads me through the winding hallways of this building I hate so much, and I try to close my mind to the images that creep in. Tris, pale and weak, almost ghostlike, being led by Peter to whatever new torture Jeanine had designed. Watching her scream and scream under the fear serum until I gave up and revealed the location of the factionless safe houses. Pressing my head to the window for a last glimpse of her before she walked to her death. Seeing her limp body in Peter's arms before he told me she was alive. Almost every horror that haunts me at night resides in this building. It's no wonder I can't let her go back to a cell here.

But I keep my body upright and solid and my face expressionless as I walk beside the factionless guard. A lifetime of hiding my pain makes it almost easy, and this is no place to show weakness.

The guard stops at the end of a hallway and says, "They're mostly in the rooms along here. Are you looking for anyone in particular?"

"A couple of people," I answer. "Do you happen to know which room is Zeke's?" She scrunches her face thoughtfully, and I add, "His girlfriend Shauna uses a wheelchair, so they'll be in an accessible room."

"Oh, right," she says as her face brightens. "I know who they are. They're probably over here." Leading me down the hallway, she pauses next to a closed door. "I'm pretty sure this is it. It's kind of early to interrupt them, though. Are you sure you don't want to wait a while?"

"That's okay," I say. "He's an early riser." He's definitely not, but after all the pranks he's pulled on me over the years, I have no objection to rousing him unexpectedly.

"Okay, then. I assume you can find your way back?" I nod, and she leaves me there to return to her duties.

I smile a little as I knock as loudly as possible, in an urgent, rapid pattern. It doesn't take long for Zeke to throw the door open, standing there in nothing but boxer shorts, his hair tousled and his face alarmed. For a second, he blinks against the light in the hallway, and then he recognizes me.

"Four. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. This is just your friendly wake-up call." He glares at first, but then a smile begins to tug at his mouth.

"Fine," he says. "What do you want?"

"We need to chat privately. Throw some pants on and come with me."

"What, are you afraid people will be blinded by my dazzling beauty?" he asks, striking an absurdly provocative pose.

"Yes, I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself."

"Well, out of consideration for you, then…" and he walks back into the room, closing the door behind him.

As I wait, I wander up the hallway, looking into some of the rooms with open doors. They're set up as large dormitories, with beds crammed tightly into each space. My mother must be housing all of Dauntless here while she tries to figure out her next steps. It's still very early, so almost everyone is asleep, but I think I spot Peter sitting on a bed in one of the rooms. Good. I'll be back to talk with him later.

Zeke joins me, and we walk wordlessly down the hallway. We both worked in the Dauntless control room, so we tend to assume we're always under surveillance. We won't talk until we're somewhere safer.

Two hallways down, Zeke leads me into a men's bathroom. I pause in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at his choice of location, but he just shrugs and comments casually, "Well, I _did_ just get up. Besides, it's as private a space as we'll find." I suppose I can't argue with that, so I follow him into the room and close the door behind me.

I don't watch as he does his business. I've never been comfortable with urinals. Abnegation doesn't believe in exposing that much of yourself to anyone else, except for your spouse. Even then, I think wryly, they probably hide in the darkness.

It's difficult to find a place to look. There's the mirror, of course, but I don't really like to look at my reflection. Part of it comes from my childhood, from Abnegation's restrictions on mirrors, but it's also that I don't really like how I look. Tris always acts like I'm handsome, and I love that she sees me that way, but I know my ears stick out too far and my nose is too long and hooked. She's much better looking than I am.

"Okay, I'm done," Zeke says, amused that I always refuse to watch him in here, and he crosses to the sink to wash his hands.

Turning to face him, I begin, "I had to leave yesterday," but he interrupts me.

"Yeah, I know. I can't blame you, though I gotta ask why you took Uri with you. I mean, the kid's a little dim sometimes, but he's family."

"I didn't take him," I quip back. "He followed on his own like a stray dog. You must have been forgetting to feed him again."

"Oh, man, I knew I forgot something…" But then his face grows more serious as he studies me. "Tris may be in real trouble, you know. Your mother was not exactly amused by that video, and I don't get the feeling she likes your girlfriend."

"No, she doesn't." I shift uncomfortably. "How did she handle the situation after I left?"

He sighs, running a wet hand through his hair. "She said the video was a lie that Jeanine put together and she _forbade_ all discussion of it. Seriously, she used that word, just like an Erudite or something."

"And how did people respond?"

"By discussing it, of course." He grins. "Quietly, though. No one wants to start another battle, at least not yet. Besides, if we're going to fight for something right now, it should probably be the factions, shouldn't it? Not some unknown group outside the city."

He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I know he's waiting for me to explain my role in ending the factions. He's shown remarkable loyalty in talking to me at all, I realize slowly, but it won't exactly help for me to confirm his suspicions about what I did.

"Yeah," I say after a moment. "Is anyone planning to do anything about that, or about the video? Because I'd like to help if they are."

"Not that I've heard. Sorry."

I nod, disappointed, though I'm not entirely sure why. I don't really want us to return to the faction system, and I don't want to face another battle, either inside or outside the city. I would love to just move forward to a quieter life with Tris…. But that doesn't seem likely.

"If you're around, I'll let you know if I hear anything," Zeke offers after a moment.

"Yeah, thanks. I don't know if I'll be around or not. I still need to talk to Evelyn, but if I can come by again, I will. And I'll try to keep Uriah out of trouble." I smile a little, and Zeke grins gratefully.

He wipes the remaining water from his hands onto his pants and crosses the room. "While I'm here…" he says cheerily as he approaches the vending machine on the wall, the one that's also in most of the Dauntless men's rooms. It's something else I've never felt comfortable with, but now I notice it with a new curiosity. Zeke twists the knob, grabbing the package as it's dispensed, and then he turns to me. "You want any?" he asks, smiling slyly.

For a long moment, I hesitate. The Abnegation in me says that I shouldn't even be considering this before I'm married, but the rest of me doesn't seem to agree anymore. And after the way Tris kissed me last night…maybe it's a good idea to be prepared, just in case.

"Yeah," I finally say, holding out my hand, palm up. I try to keep my expression placid as I look straight ahead, but I can feel the redness entering my face, and I'm sure Zeke will say something to embarrass me even more.

But to my surprise, he just looks at me levelly and says quietly, "Good for you, man." And he drops the package in my hand before turning to get another one from the machine. I shove it into my pocket without looking at it. And then we leave the room, heading back to the Dauntless dorms, quiet again in the hallways.


	3. Chapter 3: Tris – Ruminations

**Chapter 3: Tris – Ruminations**

After Tobias leaves, the others collapse back into sleep, snuggled into piles of blankets on the floor. But my mind is too full, so I wander this empty building that's become our temporary home. It's filled with apartments that must have been occupied once, but like so much of the city, everything was cleared out neatly before it was abandoned, and the rooms now echo with emptiness.

As with so many other buildings, the plumbing is still functional, along with the emergency lights in the stairways and halls, but nothing else. Now that I've seen Amanda Ritter's video, I have a better idea why that is, and it seems incredible to me that we all accepted this as normal before yesterday. We should have realized that this isn't how an area looks after being destroyed in war; it's how it looks after people deliberately move away over a period of time.

I walk, my footsteps sounding too loud to my ears, startling me when I brush against a wall or doorway. There doesn't seem to be anyone else here, but if someone is asleep in one of the many empty spaces, it would be hard to know that.

I should return to the apartment we picked, but I just can't. There's a nervous energy twitching through me that makes it too hard to stay still. It's not that I'm seeking out danger, I realize. No, I wasn't lying to Tobias last night; I really do want to live. But I also desperately want to walk, want to move freely without Peter escorting me, without the pain and fear that have accompanied me for weeks now. I also want to be alone for a bit, so I can think without interruption.

Most of my thoughts are of Caleb. I try not to let them in, but I can't help it. Tobias' words keep coming back to me, twisting my stomach into knots. _"He told me that he helped Peter fake your execution."_ I need to know if it's true.

But does it really matter? Even if it's true, he still betrayed me. He told Jeanine that I had three aptitudes, which made her more anxious than ever to "study" me. He probably also helped her figure out the best way to lure me to Erudite, and that makes him responsible for Marlene's death. Her smile flashes through my mind, and I press my palms to my cheeks as if to push it away. How can I possibly forgive him for that?

I think of his face the last time I saw him, as he pleaded with me to listen, to hide the video. He was as willing as Jeanine to kill people to hide the truth. The truth that our parents wanted to reveal. They would say I should forgive him anyway, should forgive him all the more because he doesn't deserve it, but I guess I still don't have enough Abnegation in me, because I can't do it. I can't, or I won't, or maybe both.

But as angry as I am, I don't know if I want him to die. He's still my brother, the only family I have left, and I don't know if I can abandon him to his death, even after he did that to me. Maybe they won't execute him. Maybe they'll keep him in prison. I'm quite sure I could accept that, but I know it's not what they'll do. So, I keep thinking the same thoughts, around and around in a circle.

As my feet wander down another hallway, I realize I'm not going to resolve this without more information. Maybe when Tobias returns, he'll have some answers, or some way to go forward from here.

Slowly, I make my way back to our cold, unlit apartment. Tobias chose it because it's a corner unit, so there are windows along two walls we can use to watch for anyone who might come after us. It was thoughtful in that somewhat paranoid way Tobias has mastered. But I can't blame him for thinking like that after everything he's been through. Everything we've all been through, really.

I replay our conversations from yesterday in my mind. I haven't told the others that he betrayed Dauntless to keep me alive. They didn't stay awake long enough to ask, but even if they had, this seems like a subject to avoid.

I slip through the door of the apartment. It's not as big as the unit Christina's family has, but it's large enough for our purposes, with two exterior rooms and two windowless ones, if you count the kitchen. Tobias was firm that we can only use flashlights in the interior rooms, and then only when all the doors are closed and covered with blankets to provide an extra level of security. Light carries a considerable distance at night, after all, and we can't let anyone see where we are.

The others are still sleeping soundly, and I'm beginning to feel tired enough to do the same, so I pull some blankets into one of the empty rooms and make a bed of sorts. I could join the others, but I still feel a desire to be alone. Besides, when Tobias comes back, I'd prefer to have a private space. It felt good kissing him like that last night, really good.

I wish he was here now, but I know that things could be much worse. I could be in a prison cell again, with Tobias hating me this time. Or he could have died in the battle. The thought sends a shudder through me, and I wonder for a moment how I ever let him leave my sight today. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with the desire to feel his hands on my face, or linked with mine, or elsewhere on my body, and I remember the realization yesterday that he only really touches me.

That's been true from the beginning, I realize slowly. From the moment he pulled me out of the net, and kept me from falling, and welcomed me to Dauntless with his palm on my back. From the moment he placed his hand on my stomach while teaching me to fight, the moment he climbed the Ferris wheel with me and held my hand between his and held my arm to steady me. _He liked me from the beginning._ I have no idea why, given all the other choices he had, but it's clear that he did.

And I've liked him the whole time, too. I didn't admit it to myself for quite a while, but it was there the first time I looked into his eyes, those thoughtful eyes with their unusual shade of blue. They were one of the first things I noticed at Dauntless.

I hold the image of those eyes in my mind as I finally drift off to sleep again, hoping Tobias will be back soon.


	4. Chapter 4: Tobias – Confrontation

**Chapter 4: Tobias – Confrontation**

Peter is sitting on his bed, with more emotion on his face than I've ever seen. He must have lost someone in the attack. I try to find some sympathy inside me for this boy who saved Tris' life, but all I can see is him holding her by the throat, dangling her over the chasm, and then opening his hands and letting her fall. I take a deep breath to clear the image.

"What?" he asks, looking up at me with his usual false innocence, and I grit my teeth even more. If he had any idea how much that expression reminds me of my father, he wouldn't dare wear it. Or maybe he would, just to irritate me. He is Peter, after all.

"I have a question for you," I say firmly, "and I suggest you answer it honestly. It'll be much easier for you that way."

He narrows his eyes and surveys me with a calculating look.

"The way I hear it," he comments, "you're a traitor. Seems like I'd be better off not helping you with anything."

"In that case, you should definitely answer my question, because the answer will probably cause me trouble."

He hesitates a moment, but I must have piqued his curiosity, because then he says, "Fine. What's the question?"

"Who helped you with Tris' heart monitor?"

Peter smiles, the greedy look of someone who knows his information is valuable.

"Hmm, well, as you know, I only help people if I owe them something or if they have something I want, and you and I are even. So, what are you going to give me?"

"How about the continued use of all your limbs?" I ask coldly, but he looks unfazed.

"Sure, go ahead and attack me in a room full of people you betrayed. Let's see how that goes."

For a few seconds, I glare at him, but I know he's right. This isn't the time or place to draw attention to myself.

"Fine," I snap. "What do you want?"

He thinks about this for an infuriatingly long time before saying, "Nothing you have to offer. So, I think I'll just hold onto that information for now and see if you come up with anything." He smiles, and my hands ball into fists automatically.

"In case you haven't noticed," I hiss, "my mother is in charge of the whole city right now. I can help you and your family." But his face twitches at the statement, and I realize I've said the wrong thing. With a sick feeling, I remember that he transferred from Candor. His family must have been activated by Jeanine, along with all the others, and we shot our way through them to get into this building. That's who he lost.

I draw back, evaluating Peter, trying to think of another approach. But his way of thinking is just too foreign to me, and nothing comes to mind.

"Have it your way," I snarl, turning toward the door. I'm going to have to try talking to Caleb again; perhaps I'll be able to read him better this time, now that I'm not so distracted by Tris' words.

But I must be more distracted than I realize, because I don't notice how the others in the room have shifted around me until I'm surrounded. They don't move to attack, but they form a menacing wall that blocks my exit. This isn't good.

And then Tori makes her way through them, limping heavily but looking even fiercer for it. She walks up to me, too close, and shoves me hard in the chest. I make no attempt to defend myself. Her blow is not undeserved, after all, and it's probably better if she gets it out of her system.

"I always knew you weren't a coward," she growls, "but I can't believe you're showing your face here after what you did. Or do you want to deny that you betrayed us all?" Her words stir a mixture of emotion in me, but anger wins out.

"No," I respond. "I'm not going to deny it, but if you want to talk about betrayal, let's make sure the list is complete." I start ticking a count on my fingers.

"Tris stopped the simulation." I look around at all the faces watching me and continue more loudly. "She gave you your _minds_ back, your freedom, your _souls_. And then she turned herself in to Jeanine in order to save your _lives_. And how did you respond? _By leaving her to die._ " My voice is furious now.

"But let's face it – you're all quite comfortable letting other people die for your standard of living." I hold up a second finger. "Two initiates died this year, for no reason other than your pride. Just so you could make sure you only admit the 'right people.' Those kinds of deaths happen pretty much every year, and you don't care."

A third finger joins the others. "And let's talk about those who live. Shauna was injured fighting for you, but you were all perfectly happy to kick her out just because she needs a wheelchair now."

The fourth finger lifts on its own. "In fact, you're comfortable kicking a lot of people out, aren't you? You made ten teenagers factionless this year, and I don't even know how many older people. Take a look at the factionless who just served as your allies. _Three quarters_ of them came from Dauntless. They were just like you once, but you discarded them like so much trash."

I look at Tori again, meeting her hard gaze unflinchingly. "All this time, you've been so focused on what happened to your brother. Did you ever stop to think that if he'd lived, he would have faced the same choice as everyone else in Dauntless? To die or to go factionless." I wave my hands to indicate the whole room and shout, "Because that's what this faction does to _everyone_ eventually. Don't you think it's time to change that?"

There's doubt now in Tori's expression. She's too mad to admit it, but I can tell I've struck a nerve.

"You're not exactly an innocent victim in all this," I add directly to her. "So I'd suggest that for once you think about what's right for _everyone_ in this city. We need to find a path forward, not return to a broken system."

But Tori's not ready to give in yet. Instead, she shouts back at me, "Yes, and your mother is _so_ open to suggestions. You've put all the power into one person's hands, and she won't listen to anyone else. She's as bad as Jeanine, just with different goals!"

Her voice quiets slightly as she adds, "Why didn't you talk to me about your concerns? We could have changed the faction rules, or at least tried to work something out. You were one of our leaders, for God's sake. But now it's too late. You've taken all our choices away. And that certainly isn't what's best for _everyone_ in the city!"

For a long moment, we stare at each other as a sick feeling spreads through my insides. She's right. I helped my mother take away all these people's choices, just like Jeanine did. We've killed people and destroyed factions, and now we're forcing everyone to live the way we decided was right, without giving them any voice in it at all. We're exactly like Jeanine. I have to fix this, but I don't know how.

My silence condemns me in the eyes of the watching Dauntless, and the Dauntless have never been gentle. I feel hands grab me from behind, pinning my arms as others approach me from the front. There are far too many of them to fight off, and I'm not even sure I should try. Part of me knows I deserve this.

The first blow is the hardest. It always was when my father would hit me, and I bear it in silence as I did with him. Additional strikes fall on my back, my stomach, my shoulders. Instinctively, I duck my head, but of course that won't protect my face for long. I try to stay on my feet, knowing that kicks are much worse than punches, and I'll be an open target on the floor.

The room is filled with shouts of anger, and I can't track the motion of so many people around me, coming at me with such hatred. I remember my words to Tris, saying I wasn't going into danger today, and abruptly I realize that I can't just let these people beat me until I'm dead or useless. If I'm not there to intervene, my mother will never forgive Tris, and she'll be tried as a traitor. That thought gives me the strength to do what I need.

I twist away from the arms that are still holding me, throwing my entire body weight against them at once, and the fingers fall away. I drive my shoulder into the nearest attacker, shoving him backwards against the people behind him. The movement creates a domino effect of people stumbling against each other and knocking themselves to the floor.

The door is about ten feet away, and I begin plotting a path toward it though the people grasping at me. Kicking, punching, lunging, using my elbows and knees and feet and fists and open hands, I become a human weapon with just one goal – to get out of this room. Eight feet. Seven.

As I reach six, the room explodes with the sound of a gunshot, and everyone freezes. For a moment, I'm sure I must have been shot, that one of the Dauntless must still have a weapon and has used it against me. But then I see Therese standing in the doorway, holding a gun in front of her. I don't know who or what she shot.

"Enough!" she shouts. "Break it up or I start shooting randomly!"

For maybe thirty seconds, everyone stares at her, and I know they're debating going after her too, but then Tori's voice rings out. "Let him go! He's not worth this. Just let the piece of trash leave!" And the Dauntless fall back, clearing a path for me to exit the room. The walk seems to take an eternity, with shame chasing me every step of the way. Therese nods at me as I walk past her, but I can't get myself to respond. I have never felt less comfortable in my own skin.

My eyes flit past her, and I see shattered glass all over the floor in the empty room across the hallway. Therese must have shot out the window in order to get everyone's attention. At least that means no one else died for my actions, but I can't help but notice that the room is right next to Zeke's. It could have been his room. I could have gotten him or Shauna killed today.

I limp blindly ahead, losing myself in the maze of hallways that is Erudite. By the time I find an empty lab in a quiet area, I'm beginning to feel the pain. Good. It brings home the reality of what I've done.

Closing the door behind me, I collapse into a chair and sit with my head in my hands. My entire body is shaking – I don't know how much is from the left-over adrenaline and how much is from anger. I'm furious with my mother, with Tori, with myself, with Jeanine, with everyone who led us down so many wrong paths until we ended up where we are right now. We're supposed to be the solution to humanity's problems, but we're nothing more than wild animals. Come to think of it, we're a lot worse than that.

Eventually, I rise again, walking over to one of the lab sinks to clean my injuries. But I'm mostly just bruised. I ache all over, but without the sharpness of a broken bone, and the only blood is on my knuckles, from where they split as I hit the others. It almost seems like a lesson out of Abnegation – the more selfish we are, the more we hurt ourselves.

By the time I leave the lab, I've buried the anger and guilt deep inside me. I came here for specific reasons, and those reasons still apply despite everything else, so I force myself to focus only on them.

Caleb is next. I wanted to be clear-headed when I talked to him, and I'm far from that, but this is probably my only chance. Once I say what I need to Evelyn, I doubt she'll let me near him.

I consider returning to the lobby and asking the guard to help me find his cell, but when I think about it, I know where he'll be. My mother will have him in the same cell where Tris was held. It's the only fitting place.

My feet find the way easily. They've traveled it often enough in my nightmares. At the end of the hallway, I find two factionless guards, both armed, but neither looking particularly alert. Apparently, they're not very concerned about escapes. It's probably good that I don't know either of them. That means they aren't likely to know that I helped some other traitors leave.

"Hi," I say calmly. "I'm Tobias Eaton." I pause long enough to be sure they recognize the name and that it doesn't trigger any alarms for them. "I need to speak with Caleb Prior. He's down that hallway, right?" and I point in the direction of Tris' former cell.

They exchange a brief look, but apparently my name combined with my knowledge of who's being held where is enough to satisfy them, because one of them stands and says, "Yes, he is. I'll let you in."

As I follow him down the hallway, I focus on my breathing, refusing to allow my surroundings to intrude on my thoughts. This building and its occupants have done enough to me for one day. For a lifetime, really.

The guard pauses outside the door, trying to remember the code, and finally consults a piece of paper in his pocket. "Should I come in with you?" he asks as he swings the door open.

"That won't be necessary," I answer in the same calm tone as before. "I'll just shout when I'm ready to leave."

He shrugs and says, "Okay, but shout loudly. These cell walls are pretty soundproof, and we have the cameras turned off." It's nice to know we'll be talking privately.

I nod. "Tell you what – if you don't hear from me within half an hour, come get me, okay?"

He laughs appreciatively as he walks away, calling over his shoulder, "We'll find you eventually." With those words echoing in my ears, I walk into hell.

I've never been inside this particular room, but I obsessed over it for so long I feel as if I spent a lifetime in it, locked within my worst fear. My heart is already racing, and it certainly doesn't help that the cell is small, barely six feet square. I couldn't even lie down along any of the walls. There are cameras in every corner, too, and even though I know they're turned off, they still add to the fear and paranoia. The sense that Jeanine is still out there, watching, planning our executions….

Caleb is sitting on the bed – the only piece of furniture in the room. For a moment, I picture Tris lying on that same mattress, trying to sleep during the last hours before she expected to die, and it's all I can do not to leap at Caleb and wrap my hands around his throat. But that's how Tori feels about me, I remind myself grimly. I'm not really in a position to judge Caleb too harshly.

"What are you doing here?" Caleb asks, his voice shaking wildly. I'm tempted to make something up, to say I'm here to let him know that his execution has been scheduled for tomorrow morning, so he can spend the next hours experiencing the same terror that Tris must have felt. But I don't have time to waste.

"I'm here to finish our conversation from yesterday. We probably don't have much time, so let me make a few things clear. First, I despise you. If you give me any reason to hurt you, I absolutely will. In fact, I would find it _very_ easy to kill you." I look at him fiercely, making sure he understands, and he nods nervously.

"Second, do _not_ lie to me. I have other sources of information, and if you tell me _anything_ that I know isn't true, we're back to number one." He nods again, swallowing hard this time.

"And third, don't try to justify what you did. There is no justification, and I don't want to hear any whiny, pathetic excuses. Are we clear?"

"Y-yes," he stammers. His entire body is quaking with fear, and I can't help but compare him to Tris. She must have inherited all the bravery in the family.

"Okay, then. Tell me simply and clearly what you did for Jeanine and why you don't deserve to die."

He swallows and looks away as he begins.

"At first, I loved Erudite. I loved everything about it. I could finally just focus on learning, without having to pretend to be selfless all the time. It was like a dream come true. But then Beatrice showed up out of nowhere, and she tried to make me feel like everything I was doing was a lie and that I was betraying Abnegation. She didn't understand what it was like here."

He pauses briefly but must remember my third rule, because he continues almost immediately. "She said that Mom wanted me to research the simulation serum because Jeanine was up to something. I wasn't going to do that, because I didn't believe it, and I thought it was just Beatrice acting like she knew best for everyone. She used to do that a lot." Again, he stops himself and then continues in a more even tone.

"Anyway, I guess the Erudite recorded our conversation and showed it to Jeanine, because the next thing I knew, she called me into her office. She gave me _soda_ ," he says with a faint smile. "Have you ever had that?" But his smile vanishes at the scowl on my face, and he resumes talking in a glum voice.

"I'd never had a treat before, growing up in Abnegation, and when I drank it, I began to think about all the joys and freedoms that Abnegation denied to us all." He shrugs helplessly. "I began to wonder why they had the power to decide that for the rest of us."

"And she talked to me. She showed me things that initiates don't normally get to see, like what the Abnegation leaders were really doing. She showed me your fear landscape with your father beating you, so I would know that her articles were true. And she showed me the Amanda Ritter video, to make sure I understood what Marcus and the others were trying to do. They wanted us all to leave the city and go fight for a bunch of strangers who have never done anything to help us! It just wasn't right."

He swallows again and continues in a more subdued tone. "She promised that I could get my parents to safety as the attack began and that she would make sure Beatrice wasn't hurt. If I helped her, they'd all be safe, and we could save the city from what our leaders planned. I thought I was saving lives…."

"But then my mother wouldn't stay with us, and Beatrice wasn't affected by the simulation, and everything went wrong... I didn't know how to stop any of it. It just kept getting worse and worse, and then my parents were both dead, and I guess I blamed Beatrice. They died for her, following her plan, when they should have been safe with me. It made me angry, and so I didn't feel as bad as I should have when I gave Jeanine information about her."

He kicks a foot against the floor in silence for a moment. Just as I'm about to push him to continue, he starts again on his own.

"I told Jeanine that Beatrice had three aptitudes, and I told her what they were. And I helped her understand Beatrice's personality and what simulations were most likely to affect her. I don't really know now why I told her some of that, or why I helped her do some of those things. It seemed so reasonable at the time, but now I keep thinking about it and I just don't know anymore."

His voice sounds infinitely sad as he continues quietly, "And then Jeanine made sure Beatrice knew I'd been helping. Beatrice yelled at me, of course, but mostly she just looked at me with such a look of betrayal, and I felt like maybe everything I'd been doing was wrong. For the first time, I felt really bad about it. I know that sounds awful, but it was like I just didn't think about it before then, and it took her words to make me think again."

As Caleb says that, a shock of recognition goes through me. I remember hearing Tris' voice during the simulation, remember how it led me back to reality, and I can't help but feel like Caleb is describing a simulation. But a moment later, I realize it couldn't be that. Caleb remembers thinking and feeling and _believing in_ what he did. No simulation does that.

He clears his throat and continues in a soft voice. "Peter and I spent a lot of time together while Jeanine was…designing simulations and serums and testing them and things like that." He rushes through the words, clearly not wanting to admit even to himself what Tris' life was like during that time.

"And eventually it became clear that we both wanted to do something. So, we worked out a plan. I rigged the heart monitor so it had two settings – one that ran a program with a simulated heartbeat and one that gave flat-line, and I gave Peter a remote control to switch between the two settings. He replaced the wire going to Beatrice's heart with a dead one, so nothing real could get to the monitor and cause confusion, and he switched the serum with one I helped him dye. It wasn't much, but it got her out of here."

He sighs and adds, "That's everything I did. I don't know if helping Peter at the end was enough or not. Maybe I do deserve to die…. But please tell Beatrice that I helped her at least a little, that I'm not entirely bad." He looks up at me pleadingly.

I don't know what to say. I still can't look at him without picturing Tris' hand on the small window of my cell, the last glimpse I had of her before her supposed execution. I can't help but hate him for that. But I also believe him. And that means he's not really much worse than Peter, and he probably shouldn't be killed for being a dumb, gullible kid.

"Look," I start to respond, but the door swings open, and I stop mid-word as Edward walks into the room. He's holding a gun, but he's not pointing it at Caleb. Instead, he's aiming it squarely at me.

" _You,_ " he says emphatically, "are not supposed to be in here."

"Why not?" I demand levelly, fixing irritation onto my face. It's best if I pretend I'm not doing anything wrong.

"Pretty sure you know why," Edward answers snidely. "So, just come along quietly, hmm? Your mother would like to see you."

"Well, _I'm_ pretty sure she doesn't want you pointing a gun at me," I say. "But I'm perfectly happy to go talk to her now. I was about to do that anyway." I don't bother to look at Caleb again or say anything to him as I leave. As far as I'm concerned, he can stew in that small cell a while longer.

* * *

Edward directs me into a large, well appointed apartment that must have belonged to someone high up in the Erudite hierarchy. I wonder vaguely if it was Jeanine's apartment. Taking it certainly seems like something my mother would do.

"Tobias," Evelyn says tensely as we enter, and she reaches toward me before changing her mind and letting her hand drop. It's always been difficult for me to read her expressions, but I think I see relief in her face, along with plenty of anger. "I wasn't sure you'd come back," she adds.

Her face is tired and worn, as if she didn't sleep much last night. It makes her look more vulnerable, more human. It reminds me that we share a past and that I still care about her, no matter how much I might wish I didn't.

"Of course I came back," I answer almost contritely. "I just needed to take care of a few things first."

Evelyn motions Edward out with a brief word of thanks and closes the door behind him. Then she turns to face me, giving me a long, evaluating look.

"I heard that you got into a fight with the former Dauntless. Therese said you were defending our position."

I nod. "They're angry, Mom, as angry as they were with Jeanine. And I don't entirely blame them. You need to give them a voice in reshaping this city."

A bitter look crosses her face as she spits, "A voice? You mean like the voice they gave to the factionless all these years?! I spent almost a decade starving, freezing, living off the only scraps I could get from them, and all they did was resent me for existing, for taking away a couple of their luxuries."

"I know," I interrupt. "But that doesn't make it right to do the same thing to them. And it certainly doesn't mean they'll accept it if you do." I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. "Or do you want another war?"

"Of course not," she snaps. "But I'm not going to cave in to them just to avoid one. This is our only chance to change things. I _refuse_ to lose that opportunity."

Frustration makes my voice louder. "I'm not saying you should! Of _course_ things need to change, but it's a question of how. If you at least bring the former faction leaders in and let them give some ideas, they'll be more willing to accept whatever you decide."

My mother's face is almost wild with agitation, and I realize this conversation is going nowhere. She's always been stubborn, and right now she's absolutely convinced she's right. There's no way she will accept input from the faction leaders.

An aggravated sigh bursts from me, and I knead the back of my neck for a moment. "Okay," I finally continue more quietly. "How about if you just include me, then? Maybe you could actually listen to _me_ for a change?"

"Well, I'd like to," she hisses, "but remind me where you just were? What you've spent the last day doing? How am I supposed to trust you when your first goal is to rescue the traitors who tried to stop us?"

For a brief moment, I freeze, trying to control my anger. I need to calm down. My mother is at least still talking to me, and there's nothing to be gained by alienating her completely. I take a slow breath, willing my heart rate to ease.

My voice is controlled, almost quiet when I respond. "You can't be surprised that I took Tris out of here. You know how much she means to me, and there's no way I was going to let her go back to a cell in this building."

"No, I'm not surprised," she answers in an almost deadly voice. Her eyes narrow again. "That girl has always had too much influence on you. Sooner or later, I hope you figure that out. But in the meantime, when you ask me to trust you, you're really asking me to trust her. Because you'll do what she wants."

"Think about it," she adds. "You weren't visiting her brother because _you_ care about him, now were you?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to push back the tiredness that's beginning to overwhelm me. It feels like there are no answers, no way to move forward, and I so desperately want to find a path out of this mess.

Finally, I answer. "I was visiting him because of something he said yesterday. I think he's much less of a traitor than we thought, and I wanted to confirm that before he's executed."

"I'm not Jeanine," my mother snaps. "He'll get a trial, and he can present his side of things then. He won't be executed without a chance."

"And how am I supposed to know that?" I explode. So much for staying calm. "You're acting just like Jeanine in so many other ways, what makes this any different?"

"I am _not_ ," she snarls so fiercely I feel like the mere words could rip flesh out of me.

"Yes, you are! You're threatening to kill people who don't agree with you. You're refusing to listen to anyone, even your own son. You tried to hide the same video she did, and now that it's been released, you're forbidding everyone to discuss it. You're so hell-bent on controlling everyone and everything you might as well be using simulations. You're _exactly_ the same!"

For a moment, she's so angry she's rendered speechless, and I know I've gone too far. But in a way it felt good to finally speak my mind to her.

"I won't talk about that video," she responds in an icy whisper, and I'm surprised that's what she's focusing on first out of my accusations. "I don't care what your father says. Those people have already done enough harm in this city. I will _not_ let them touch us again."

That was definitely not the response I expected, and for several seconds, I just stare at her. "What do you mean, 'again'?"

But she shakes her head vehemently. "No! You don't get it. They're _dangerous_ , Tobias. They _change_ people."

"In what way?" I ask, but somehow I know she won't answer.

She turns away from me, her entire body rigid with fury and, I think, with fear.

"That's why you helped Marcus, isn't it?" she finally asks.

I sigh again, running a hand over my head in agitation. "No. I didn't help him at all. You know I wouldn't. I helped Tris. He just happened to share her goal."

She shakes her head. "I might buy that for the video, but it certainly doesn't explain why you helped him escape."

"What?" I ask incredulously. "I didn't take him out of here."

"Don't lie to me," she hisses. "Three different people saw him leave with you."

I find myself staring at her again, trying to figure out what game she's playing. But I'm not sure it's a game. Her face has the creases and guarded look I remember from years ago, when my father's mood would shift suddenly, and he'd attack for no apparent reason. It's a look of deep betrayal, and I don't think she's faking it.

"I'm not lying," I say more quietly, letting my confusion show. "I swear I didn't take him out of this building. He was upstairs with me while I was working on Jeanine's computer, but he followed me down to the lobby, and that's where I last saw him. If he's gone, I don't know how he did it."

But as I finish the words, an uncomfortable thought creeps into my mind. I was so focused on what was ahead of us as we left, I never looked behind me. If he followed us out of the building, I might not have seen him, and the guards might have thought he was part of my group. Could that really have happened? I'm usually so aware of him, the hairs on the back of my neck rising whenever he's close, that it seems impossible, but I was certainly very distracted. I can't be sure.

My mother's eyes are narrowed as she evaluates me, weighing my words and expression, and I can tell she doesn't believe me.

"I helped you when no one else would," she says quietly, but with a fierce undercurrent of anger. "And _this_ is how you repay me."

"You seem to be forgetting a couple of things, _Mom_ ," I say with equal anger. "You didn't help me for free. Tris saved my life, but you didn't help her out of gratitude, or because I care about her, or even because she saved so many other lives. You only did it to get me to betray Dauntless. So, even if I had helped Marcus, _which I didn't,_ don't try to claim you deserve better."

She glares at me coldly, but I stare directly back, refusing to be intimidated.

"You won't be able to keep her safe," she finally says, her teeth gritted.

Fury sweeps through me, sending tendrils of flame through every part of my body. "Are you threatening her?" I ask incredulously.

She turns away again, but I grab her arm, twisting her back to face me. "Are you seriously threatening Tris? What the hell kind of mother are you?"

She pulls back, yanking her arm from my grasp. "Don't you dare put your hands on me! Don't you _dare!_ " For a moment, her face is from my childhood, filled with fear as my father grabbed her, and I step back, feeling a surge of guilt and confusion. I grabbed her like he did.

"You want to think you're different than him," she says, "but you're not. You're just like he was at your age." Every word drills through me, but she continues, "I wasn't threatening Tris. I was warning you. Marcus will try to get you to leave the city, and knowing your girlfriend, she'll go, and you'll go with her. And they'll change you, just like they did to him. And then you'll hurt her, the way you've always sworn you wouldn't. You'll be just like him!"

Something twists deep inside me, a primal fear knotting my insides like a rope. "What are you talking about?" I demand in a voice that no longer wants to work.

Her expression turns even more bitter, and she takes a few steps away, stopping with her back to me. She's silent for so long that I'm sure she's not going to answer, but eventually she says, "He disappeared for a few days after he became a leader. He would never tell me where he went or what happened, but he was obsessed with Divergence after that. He's the one who pushed the others to retest the factionless, so they could get a count of the Divergent population. He's the one who wanted to show the video to everyone. He's the one who pushed every stage of what led to this war."

She turns around and looks me right in the eyes. "And that's also when he started hitting us." A lead weight drops into my stomach, pulling me toward the floor.

"I don't know what they did to him, but it destroyed him. Don't let them do it to you too. Don't go outside this city." Her voice is intense, her eyes glued to mine, and suddenly there are no thoughts left in my head. There's just the dread from my fear landscape, the thought of turning into my father, and the certainty that I no longer know who to trust.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I wander the hallways after I leave my mother's apartment. Thought eventually begins to filter back into my brain, but it's slow, as if I'm swimming through a thick mud.

_She must be lying._ She made this up to keep me from leaving the city, to get me to agree with her, to silence me. It's as simple as that. Yet part of me is sure she was telling the truth, or at least that she believes what she said. Did something or someone really change him, break something deep inside him, flip some internal switch that turned him into a monster?

And do I have the same flaw inside me, waiting?

No. It doesn't make sense. I've always known he was responsible for his own actions. It's impossible to believe otherwise after seeing the pleasure in his eyes so many times as he released his violence. That has to be all him. It has to be.

And I'm not like him. I'm not. I would _never_ hit Tris.

But I know there's violence inside me. I can't deny that. There's a reason I was so afraid of shooting a woman that it stayed in my fear landscape for two years. There's a reason my landscape still shows me Marcus' face in the mirror. I've hurt people, and I've taken pleasure in it.

During my initiation, I was more than a good fighter; I reveled in it. Yes, it was part of initiation, and we were forced to do it, but it was also the first time I ever got to hit someone back, and I loved the rush of power I felt. I've never started a fight since then, but when they've been pushed on me, I haven't exactly held back. I thoroughly enjoyed knocking out Eric's tooth and wiping that smug look off his face, even if I did it to keep him from hurting Shauna.

And then there's everything I've done to defend Tris…. Drew never fully recovered from what I did to him, at least not mentally. But all I could think was that I wanted to hurt him more, wanted to do the same thing to Peter and Al. I executed Eric without a backward glance, without a twinge of guilt, because of how many times he threatened Tris, because I knew if he lived that he'd kill her someday. I don't even know how many people I killed helping Tris escape from Erudite – from this building. They were just obstacles to her safety. I probably killed even more breaking back in here yesterday. I didn't enjoy that, but I didn't flinch from it either, and I don't really regret it.

I could easily have the same fault inside me that my father does, and if what my mother said is true, I'm walking straight into danger if I leave this city. Worse than that, I'm leading Tris into that danger. I can't let that happen. But I also know I can't let her go without me, not into all the unknown risks out there. And if anything on that video is true, they need her.

I don't know what to do.

But even if I don't have a plan, it's time to do something different. My feet have pounded enough miles in this building today. It's time to go back to Tris. My stomach twists at the thought of explaining all this to her, but I'm determined not to break my promise, and I'm not willing to just stay away, so I'll have to figure it out. Maybe the cool outside air will give me some ideas….

I make my way back to the lobby, wondering vaguely if any of the guards will try to stop me. My mother and I didn't really finish our conversation, and I don't clearly remember how it ended. I was too absorbed by what she said. Hopefully, she hasn't issued any orders to hold me.

As soon as I enter the lobby, Zeke emerges from another stairway. It's too quick, and I instinctively know that he was waiting in the stairway, watching for me. He must have been trying to stay out of sight of the guards.

He raises a hand in greeting, looking as if he hasn't seen me all day, as he crosses the room quickly to join me. His hand stretches out to shake mine, and I grab it immediately. He knows I don't like to shake hands, so if he's greeting me this way, there's a reason for it. Sure enough, I feel the paper between his fingers as he presses it against my palm. I take it quietly, making a partial fist to shield it from view.

"You sure know how to rile people up, don't you?" Zeke asks me with a half smile. It's a serious expression for him.

I shrug, muttering, "It's a talent."

"Well, be careful exercising it, huh?" There's genuine concern in his voice, and I feel a brief surge of gratitude toward him for sticking with me despite everything. I nod, trying to think of a suitable response, but he just claps me on the shoulder and heads to one of the other stairways, as if he was only passing through the lobby as a shortcut.

I surreptitiously slip the paper into my pocket, my fingers brushing briefly against the package Zeke handed me this morning. It feels like that was years ago, and it suddenly seems wrong to have something like that in my pocket after everything that's happened since. But I leave it there. It's been a rotten day, but that doesn't mean my feelings for Tris have changed, and sooner or later, I'm going to want the contents of that package. I can only hope she does too once she hears what my mother said.

To my relief, the guards don't stop me as I leave the building. I'll be followed, of course, but I can handle that. I wanted some extra walking time anyway….


	5. Chapter 5: Tris – Planning

 

**Chapter 5: Tris – Planning**

I wake up to the sound of Uriah laughing.

"No, there's no dash after it. You just spelled 'mina.'"

"What's a mina?" Christina asks.

Cara answers, "It's a type of bird" at the same time Uriah says, "It's less than maja."

I join them in time to see Christina smack Uriah on the arm. "Hey, some of us haven't had ten years to practice this! I think I'm doing pretty well."

Cara purses her lips and says, "Objectively speaking, I'm not sure I'd agree with that. The vowels are pretty basic, you know."

Christina's eyes land on me, and she says, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did we wake you? I mean it's only one o'clock."

"I had trouble falling back asleep this morning," I mutter. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Well," Christina says, "it turns out that Zeke and Uriah have been using this thing called Morris code to communicate _secretly_ for years."

"Morse code," Uriah corrects her, rolling his eyes. "And it was useful. We could pass messages without Mom catching us." Looking at me, he adds, "I thought it might be good for us," and he gestures around the room, "to have another way of communicating. You know, in case someone comes into the building or something like that."

"Good idea," I say, and it is. We have no idea what we're facing, and having a backup means of communication can only help. With a pang, I remember Lynn and Shauna making faces to each other as we spied on Jack Kang. That was their secret code, and it worked, but it led to Shauna being paralyzed.

"See, I told you I'm smart," Uriah says to Christina. Then, he looks at me again and adds, "We ate a bunch of the food, but we saved you half a can of stew." He nods toward the kitchen counter, and I see the can sitting there with a spoon stuck into it.

"Mmm, appetizing," I comment, as I step over to pick it up. It tastes like tin and congealed fat, but I eat it anyway. We need to keep our strength up, and I won't do that by starving.

We spend the next few hours learning Morse code, and I begin to understand Christina's frustration. I may have an aptitude for Erudite, but that doesn't mean everything comes naturally, and I find it very difficult to figure out when Uriah is pausing between letters.

"Sorry," he mutters after what seems like the hundredth time we mistake "a" for "et." "I guess Zeke and I got really used to each other's timing. Siblings are good at that, you know." The moment the words leave his mouth, a stricken expression crosses his face, and he glances between me and Cara like he's sure he's offended one or both of us.

"Oh, relax," Cara says with mild irritation. "My brother's dead and hers is a traitor. Life goes on. We can stand it if you mention _your_ brother."

I laugh. I'm not entirely sure why, but something about Cara's calm in-your-face answer appeals to me. A moment later, though, it sinks in just how many people we've all lost. Al. Will. My parents. Marlene. Lynn. And Caleb in a way.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "We have to find a way to keep going, don't we?"

Suddenly, I'm wondering when Tobias will be back, and I'm keenly aware that he didn't take a weapon with him. Alone among the Dauntless, he walked away from yesterday with two guns – his own and the one I handed to him when I surrendered. He left them here for us, and I know it was sensible. If he brought one to Erudite, it would just be confiscated, and then we'd have one less option. Still, I don't like the thought of Tobias being unarmed in _that_ place.

"Time to practice walking!" Christina says emphatically, changing the subject, and I seize the opportunity to help her to her feet.

We pace up and down the hallway together, slowly at first but faster as Christina masters the crutch. Eventually, she starts carrying a gun in her free hand, pausing to aim periodically. I should do that too, I know, but whenever she hands it to me so she can adjust her crutch, it's all I can do to avoid dropping it. I was hoping it would be easier now, after firing at myself in yesterday's simulation, but it's not. I wonder if I'll ever stop picturing Will's face when my fingers touch that metal.

As the day drags on, it gets harder and harder not to worry about Tobias. The others try to distract me, but I keep obsessing over images of him being walked between guards down the long hallways of Erudite, limping from whatever torture he just endured. _How could I have let him go there alone?_

By eight o'clock, I'm a nervous wreck and am seriously considering rescue options. My feet retrace the same path over and over, and I can't seem to avoid growling at anyone who dares to keep me company. I wonder if this is how Tobias felt when I went to Erudite. _No_ , I realize grimly. _That was much worse._ At least now I can hope that Tobias will come back safely any moment. He didn't have any hope.

When he finally emerges from the stairway, I run to him, wrapping my arms around him in relief. I think I feel a wince go through his body at the contact, but a second later, I'm sure I must have imagined it, because he wraps his arms around me as tightly as ever and kisses me deeply.

"What took you so long?" I ask when he releases me. I can't keep the worry out of my voice.

"Things didn't go well," he answers in a low voice. "I don't think I can go back there again." I pull away a little, searching his face in the dim light, but he adds, "I'll have to tell you about it later. Right now, we need to talk to the others."

* * *

We sit huddled around the flashlight, looking at a small piece of paper that Zeke gave to Tobias.

> **_Zip-lining_ **
> 
> **_Midnight_ **
> 
> **_Bring friends & goodies_ **

It obviously isn't really zip-lining. I can't imagine anyone being in the mood for that right now. Besides, Zeke must know that Tobias avoids heights.

"I assume it's a meeting at the Hancock building," I say, "but what are the goodies?"

"Guns," Tobias and Uriah answer simultaneously.

"Even I got that," Christina adds, and I laugh.

Uriah, on the other hand, looks serious for a change. He says quietly, "But we only have two guns for five of us. That's not enough."

"No, it isn't," Tobias answers calmly. "Fortunately, I know where to get more if we need them." He looks at the small group of us, his eyes pausing on Christina's leg and Cara's face before he adds, "But first we should decide who's going."

"We all go!" Christina exclaims. "I've gotten much better on the crutch, and there's no way I'm staying behind. Besides, as long as the factionless aren't there, I shouldn't be in any danger. The Dauntless don't hate _me_." She gives Tobias a pointed look.

He ignores the implied accusation. "Can you use a gun right now?" he asks instead, his gaze drifting again to her injured leg.

"I don't aim with my feet," she answers sarcastically. But of course she knows how much Tobias always talks about the importance of stance, so she adds, "and yes, I've been practicing all afternoon like a good little Dauntless." Tobias apparently accepts that, because his eyes move on to Cara.

"I'm going too," she says immediately. "I want to hear what people have to say, and like Christina, I'm probably not in any real danger. And while I'm not a fan of guns, I do know how to use one." My surprise must show on my face, because she smiles slightly and adds, "Christina showed me how the first time I helped you all, in Candor." For me, the words are an uncomfortable reminder. The two of them became close while mourning Will, and perhaps because they both hated me for shooting him.

Tobias looks at Uriah next, though I'm not sure why. There's certainly nothing stopping him from going.

"Why are you even asking?" Uriah says. "Of course I'm going."

Tobias' eyebrows pucker, and he responds, "What I'm really asking is why you're here at all. You weren't facing trial or even in trouble. You could be safely at Erudite with Zeke."

Uriah looks away, his expression pained, or perhaps embarrassed. After a moment, he says, "You guys are the only friends I have left." Then he looks back at Tobias and adds, "And you hid my Divergence. You know, during initiation. You kind of saved my life."

"You don't owe me anything for that," Tobias says sternly. "My initiation instructor, Amar, did the same thing for me. I was just passing the favor on."

"Yeah, and he's dead now, isn't he?" Uriah asks quietly. "So I know you were taking a chance. Besides, it's my life, so it seems like a big deal to me." He gives a small smile, but he continues to look at Tobias almost challengingly, and Tobias finally nods.

His eyes turn to me next, but I'm busy thinking about what Uriah just said. Somehow, it never really occurred to me how much danger Tobias and Tori put themselves in to hide my Divergence. And I stabbed Tori yesterday….

Tobias clears his throat to get my attention and asks, "If you carry a gun, will you be able to use it?"

"I don't know," I admit, biting my lip nervously. It feels so weak to say that, and I hate admitting to weakness, particularly in front of Tobias. I should be stronger than this. I _need_ to be stronger than this.

Tobias stares at me, and I'm sure he must be annoyed, even though his eyes just look thoughtful. I'd be annoyed if I were him.

Finally, he stands up and says, "I suggest we break into two groups for now. Christina, it will take you longer to walk, so you and Cara should head straight there. Uriah, if you wouldn't mind taking one of the guns and going with them, you can be their point person. Tris and I can retrieve the other weapons and meet you there." His eyes rest on mine for a moment, making sure I don't object to going with him, and then he continues. "There's an old park at Chestnut and Wabash – we'll meet there before anyone heads into the Hancock building."

* * *

We don't talk as we walk down the dark, quiet streets. The air is too silent, and any noise feels like a pointless risk. Tobias keeps a hand lightly on me, as he did during the long walk from Erudite to Abnegation, as if he's afraid I might disappear into the night without it. His other hand holds the gun ready at all times. I can't help but wonder what happened at Erudite today that has him so jumpy.

We walk for what feels like hours, though I suspect it's really less than two miles. The tension just makes it seem longer. Eventually, Tobias leads me into an abandoned building whose windows have been shattered. Broken glass litters the lobby, mingled with years' worth of dirt and debris. It doesn't look like anyone has been here in decades.

Tobias leads me carefully through the room, and I realize he's sticking to a path that hides our footsteps. He's clearly been here before.

At the back of the lobby, hidden from the street, is a door to a staircase, and we climb to the third floor. Here, the building is in better shape, though there are no lights of any kind other than the moon filtering through the windows at each end of the hallway. Tobias fiddles with the knob on one of the doors, smiling slightly as he whispers, "I modified it so it would seem locked."

After a moment, the knob turns, and Tobias leads me into a completely dark space.

"Hang on a second," he mutters as he shuts the door behind us, sealing out any residual light from the hallway. I hear him moving in the darkness, and then a light comes on, and I blink rapidly in the sudden brightness.

As my eyes adjust, I find myself staring around in wonder. We're standing in an old apartment with a grand, arched ceiling. It once had large windows, but they've since been boarded up, and there's a layer of blankets covering them to ensure no light seeps through. There's a folding chair next to a kerosene stove, with a mattress stretching out on the other side. Piles of supplies fill the rest of the room – blankets, canned goods, multiple flashlights and portable lamps, and a stack of weapons.

"What is this place?" I ask quietly.

"It's where I was going to live," Tobias answers, his eyes on mine, "when I was planning to leave Dauntless and go factionless. Before I met you." He gives a little smile and adds, "I wasn't fond of my mother then, so I had no intention of joining the other factionless, and after I learned about the attack the Erudite were planning, I knew I needed weapons and a place to hide them. So, I found somewhere no one else was using, and I brought stuff here, a little at a time."

"This is incredible," I say, wondering how on earth he got the mattress here. "Why didn't we come here last night?"

Tobias looks uncomfortable. "It was kind of far for Christina to walk," he says after a moment. Then, I think he must remember that we're being honest with each other, because he adds, "And I'm not sure how much to trust her right now. I think she cares more about Dauntless than the others, and she may not be happy with ending the factions."

I have to think about that for a moment before deciding he's right. Cara's faction destroyed itself when it started the war, and somehow I get the feeling that Uriah only chose Dauntless because his family was there. He would probably have been just as happy in Amity, or living factionless. Neither of them will care too much that Tobias betrayed Dauntless, but Christina might.

"I see your point." Then, I smile and add, "I guess this can be our private space."

Tobias grins and steps close to me. He slides a hand through my hair and wraps it around the back of my head, leaning down to bring his lips to mine. He kisses me slowly, and the heat rises through me at the same pace. I could stay like this all night, but he pulls back and says softly, "It's too bad we have to go."

Clearing my throat hastily, I say, "Yeah, I guess we do. So, we need two more guns, right?"

"Three," he says firmly. "But first, we need to figure out a way for you to use one. And I think I have an idea for that…."

He takes the gun he was carrying and carefully unloads it while I watch. When he finishes, he holds it up in front of me so I have to look at it.

"One of these probably saved my life today," he says, and I start, looking up at him in concern.

"What?!"

He makes a little movement with his hand, as if to brush away the worry. "I'm fine. I wasn't paying enough attention, and I ended up in a room with twenty Dauntless…who don't like me very much right now."

I reach toward him instinctively, placing my hand over his heart, as I stare at him wide-eyed. I knew he winced when I touched him earlier. And suddenly, I'm furious with my faction.

_"_ _What did they do to you?"_

But he continues without answering my question. "My point is that there's more than one way to use a gun. Therese got me out of there by shooting a window. It got everyone's attention, and it scared them into backing off. Without shooting anyone. And it made me think that maybe you could use this again if you can learn how to aim differently."

He turns me gently so my back is pressed against his chest and I'm facing across the room toward one of the old windows. "Hold this in front of you," he commands, and I take the gun in my clammy hands. My fingers instantly object, but he wraps his own hands around mine, clamping them in place, and together we hold the gun in front of us. I can feel his body pressed against me, his chin resting on the top of my head, and his strength holds me in place.

"Picture yourself standing in a doorway in Erudite," he says softly. "The room is filled with makeshift beds, and Dauntless are leaping across them to attack me." My heart starts pounding, and I feel sweat breaking out on my palms and my face.

"I know you don't want to shoot them," Tobias continues in the same calm, almost gentle voice. "But you want to stop them. You could shoot a window to do that, couldn't you?"

I nod, swallowing hard.

"Good. Then picture that and squeeze the trigger."

I close my eyes and see Will's face floating in front of me. My breathing is getting more rapid, and my heart is racing. I can't do this. I can't I can't I can't.

Behind me, Tobias says calmly, "Breathe with me. I'm always drawing strength from you. This time, you draw it from me."

The comment surprises me enough to erase the image of Will. "You draw strength from me?"

He laughs. "Constantly. You just don't notice because you have so much to spread around."

A warm, soft feeling goes through me at the words, a feeling that's totally out of place with the gun in my hands. Suddenly, I'm very aware of Tobias' body against my back and his arms pressed along mine. I bet he's never held anyone else like this during target practice. Or maybe ever.

Abruptly, I can picture him in the room of Dauntless, their hands beating into him the way his father's did. Anger surges through me again, and I aim the gun at the imaginary window. I clench my teeth and screw my eyes closed, but I manage to squeeze the trigger.

For a moment, I stand there panting, Tobias still holding me firmly. I breathe with him and feel my heart rate begin to slow down.

"Good," he says. "Now think. Where else could you shoot, besides the window?"

I picture the room again, thinking about his description. "Are all the Dauntless grouped around you?"

"Yes."

"Then, I could shoot into one of the mattresses. That would absorb the bullet enough to keep it from hurting someone, right?" I feel him nod against the top of my head, and I aim at a mattress on the far side of the imaginary room, well away from the people. Again, my finger pulls the trigger. It's easier this time.

"Okay, let's picture a different scenario now. How did Christina get shot yesterday?"

I don't want to think about that, but it's not an unbearable thought, like so many others, so I answer. "We ran into Edward in the stairway. He had a gun and I didn't, and I struggled with him over it. And Christina got shot, and then she shot Edward."

"What could you have done differently if you had a gun?"

I have to think about my answer for a while. Would it have made a difference? After all, Christina had a gun, so it's not like we were unarmed. But Edward had to pull his weapon. If I'd had one aimed at him before then, he probably wouldn't have done that.

The picture is clear in my mind, and I imagine holding the gun out in front of me. But what would I have done if he had pulled his gun anyway? I wouldn't have been willing to kill Edward. He's never been a friend, exactly, but he's not my enemy either. And there's not much else I could have shot in the stairway, with all that metal and cement to make the bullet ricochet, and with all those innocent people below us. _Nothing except the dead guard._ But a shiver runs up my spine at the idea of shooting his body to distract Edward, and I know I couldn't bring myself to do that, even in my imagination.

"I don't know," I finally whisper. The words feel like a failure.

"Could you have injured him to protect Christina?" Tobias asks. "If there was nothing else to shoot, and if he forced your hand?"

My palms go clammy again, but I push myself to think anyway. I shot Eric in the foot to keep him from killing Tobias. Surely, I could do something like that for Christina.

My hands shake as I aim the gun at Edward's side, where Christina shot him. No, I think, not the side. If I miss even a little, or if he moves unexpectedly, that could kill him. I shift my aim to his arm, a little below where I was shot. Tobias' hands steady mine, and I breathe with him again as I pull the trigger for the third time tonight.

"Uriah this time," Tobias says. "The Dauntless traitors are attacking Candor, and he's in danger." My heart rate rises immediately at the memory, but I lean into Tobias and breathe with him until it slows again. I picture Uriah's kind face as he took me zip-lining and his protectiveness after Peter attacked me. And I know I need to protect him too. Of course I do.

I was on the ground during that attack, so I aim up at the leg of his imaginary attacker, picking my target carefully – the right spot to cause pain but not death. It's much easier to pull the trigger now. I'm getting used to it. Behind me, I can feel Tobias nod.

"Cara's turn. Put her where Peter was, in the Amity compound. Someone is about to shoot her from behind. Cara is between you and the shooter."

My reaction surprises me. When this really happened, I pushed Peter to safety, but now I step sharply to the side, moving away from Tobias for the first time, and shoot around where Cara would be, grazing the gun arm of the person who was shooting. It takes me a moment to understand why it was so much easier this time, but then I get it. She's Will's sister.

Tobias is watching me, his eyes too dark to read. He doesn't step over to me again. Instead, he says very quietly, "Eric is holding a gun to my head."

My hands lift the gun on their own, pointing directly at Eric's imaginary head. For a moment, I hesitate, knowing this is a kill shot, and images flash through my mind unbidden. But they're not images of Will. Instead, I see Eric planning to kill Tobias in cold blood just because he could, Eric shooting a Candor boy in the head simply because he was Divergent, Eric taunting Tobias as the Dauntless prepared to execute him, and suddenly I understand how Tobias fired that gun. But I can't quite do it. My hand lowers slightly, and I fire at Eric's ear. I know that I would do more than that to save Tobias, if it really came down to it, but I hope it never does.

Tobias steps to my side now, his eyes holding mine. His hand slides softly down my free arm, and he laces his fingers with mine. "Let's go," he says.


	6. Chapter 6: Tobias – Meeting

**Chapter 6: Tobias – Meeting**

We reach the Hancock building about ten minutes after eleven and watch from a quiet spot for a while. No flashlights or voices break the night air, so we approach the building cautiously, guns ready. The lobby is completely dark, without even a faint glow from the emergency lights or the elevators. The generator must still be off.

"What do we do now?" Tris whispers to me, like I have any idea what I'm doing. But we shouldn't stay here, so I lead them into the back stairwell and partway down toward the basement. Whoever turns the generator on, assuming they do, is likely to use the other staircase, so we're probably safe here. And from this spot we should be able to hear people as they arrive.

It's a long wait. The others eventually sit on the stairs, letting their legs rest, but Tris and I stand together a little apart from them. This isn't the time or place to talk, so we wait in silence, leaning against the wall, our sides pressed together. Neither of us has had a chance to bathe in the last two days, but Tris' hair still has a sweet smell that tantalizes me as I lean close to her. It's always hard to focus around her, though at the same time I notice more when she's near. It's when I'm most awake.

I finally begin hearing movements and voices around eleven-thirty. Someone shouts a question I can't quite make out, but I catch the word "generator." Another ten minutes pass, and then the emergency lights flicker on. Many of the bulbs have burned out over the years, despite the sporadic use they get, but a few still burn feebly.

Tris pulls my arm, and I lean down so my ear is right by her mouth. "If they're turning on the generator, that means they're going to the roof, right?" she whispers. "Maybe we should climb a couple of flights and catch the elevator from there."

"Good idea," I whisper back, and we quietly collect the others.

* * *

We're the first people on the hundredth floor, so we have time to decide if we should stay here or climb the ladder to the roof. Where the meeting is held will depend largely on who's conducting it, and how many Dauntless attend. That triggers a short debate, with Christina and Uriah convinced that we should climb to the roof, and me determined not to. I'm pretty sure Tris only sides with me because she knows how much the height terrifies me, but I appreciate the support anyway. Cara ends up being the deciding vote when she comments that we could easily be trapped on the roof if someone simply removes the ladder.

So, we move away from the elevators to a more shielded area and wait again. Occasionally, I whisper a scenario to Tris, and she practices aiming. Even if she can't pull the trigger here, it seems to help her think about targets.

After a while, Christina begins leaning on Uriah for support. Her leg is undoubtedly bothering her, but I have to give her credit for holding on this long without complaint.

Finally, people begin arriving. I hear voices I don't recognize, conducting the same debate we just did and coming to the same conclusion – that they should hold the meeting on this floor. A smile tugs at my mouth, and Tris gives my hand a squeeze of amusement. Behind me, I can almost hear the annoyance in Christina's breathing, but I don't turn around or say anything. We need to stay focused.

The voices launch into another debate, about whether or not to use floodlights, and it's all I can do not to join in. They'd be crazy to draw that kind of attention to a building you can see from miles away, particularly when the moon is already so bright tonight. It casts enough light to manage, and fortunately they eventually come to that conclusion.

As it gets closer to midnight, more and more people arrive, mingling and speaking in loud voices. I recognize some of them, especially Tori. Perhaps I should have taken the time to warn the others about her, though I don't think she's a threat to anyone except me. And she may have gotten the worst of it out of her system today. I can hope so, anyway.

Feet start stomping rhythmically, and I know they're getting ready to begin. That technique always catches the Dauntless' attention. Tori calls for silence, her voice getting louder with each repetition until the crowd finally quiets enough to hear.

"Thank you! I'm glad to see so many of you came. Most of you know that we're here to figure out a new plan. We successfully overcame our own traitors, plus the Erudite, but we're now in a position we didn't expect. Evelyn thinks we'll lie down quietly and let her end our factions, but _I_ don't think you'll do that. _Will you?_ "

The crowd roars its anger toward my mother, with shouts of "Dauntless, Dauntless, Dauntless" echoing through the floor. Intermixed, I hear loud cries of "Candor," some voices singing "Amity," and even a few quiet calls of "Abnegation." Someone shouts, "All the factions, even Erudite!" and there's a smattering of applause. I can see why Zeke suggested we bring guns.

Behind me, I can feel Christina and Cara almost straining toward the others, and I know they agree with the general sentiment. Even Tris feels tense, like part of her is drawn there too. Uriah, oddly, seems content where he is.

Tori shouts over the noise, "Then we need a plan!" Another roar greets the words, but the voices quickly grow quiet again. I can feel the anticipation thick in the air even from here.

"And it needs to be a smart one! Because we have no weapons, and our oppressors do." She lets those words sink in for a moment and then continues, "We need ideas! If you have any, step forward. Unlike Evelyn, we'll listen to you."

Tris turns toward me, mixed emotions on her face, and I know she has an idea. Of course she does…. But she bites her lip and stays where she is.

Someone calls out, "We can overpower them! If we all act at the same time, every one of us can grab a weapon. Let's just pick a time and do it!"

There's a general shout of agreement, but I shake my head automatically. It's a bad plan.

Apparently, Tori realizes that too, because she answers, "No! Most of the factionless came from Dauntless. They'll notice if we gather next to them, and they know how to use those weapons. Don't underestimate them!" I guess she heard part of what I said earlier.

"What if we bring them back into Dauntless?" someone suggests. "They might turn on Evelyn for the chance to come home again." That suggestion must elicit some thought, because it's greeted by silence, followed by a sudden burst of mutters all around the room.

"This isn't right," a tremulous voice finally calls out. "The factionless are people too." Someone must object because the speaker continues, "Well, you thought they were when they were Dauntless, and then when they were your allies. What's different now?"

"Yeah," someone else shouts. "It's as bad as what you did to Amity!" The accusation draws some hisses, but loud voices shout, "Truth," and I know at least some of the Candor agree.

I'm curious now, so I lean close to Tris' ear and whisper, "What's your idea?"

She smiles and shifts to respond only to me. "Pellet guns." I have to think about that for a moment, and then I grin too. Dauntless is filled with those, scattered in every kid's bedroom and in some of the stores. The factionless wouldn't have gathered them, because they're not real weapons, but they certainly look real – real enough to create a stand-off with the factionless and give Tori some bargaining power. For a moment, I just shake my head in wonder. Tris could certainly have succeeded in Erudite.

The crowd continues with suggestions, but they're all rejected for various reasons. I'm getting tempted to let Tris step forward with her idea, when everyone falls unexpectedly silent. Footsteps move through the crowd, and I lean forward just a little, just enough to see. The sight freezes me in place.

My father walks through the crowd with Johanna Reyes and three people I don't recognize. Except that I do know one of them, somehow. He looks exactly like Amar, right down to his body language as he walks. But Amar is dead. I attended his funeral. Just like I attended my mother's….

"What's the matter?" he asks someone he's passing. "You look like you've seen a ghost." The voice and the words remove all doubt, and suddenly I'm angry. _I mourned him._ I made decisions about my life based on his murder. And the whole time it was fake? It's what my mother did, and somehow having it happen a second time makes it even worse. How could they do that? _What is wrong with them?_

And my _father_ is involved. He's always involved in things that hurt me. Even when I came out of the simulation, after almost killing Tris, he was there.

Tris' hands press into my chest, and I realize I've moved toward Amar without meaning to. Tris is looking at me with concern, her eyes wide, trying to figure out what's wrong. I shake my head. Even if I could talk safely here, there are no words to express how I feel right now. All I can do is stare.

I'm standing in plain sight of the crowd, but it doesn't matter. They're too focused on the newcomers to look our way. Murmurs and exclamations of surprise fill the room. And then Tori's strangled voice cuts through them, filled with the same emotions running through me.

"George…."

She knows Amar, but she's not even looking at him. Instead, she steps toward one of the others, a man I don't know, and takes him by the shoulders. People shift around the group, giving me a glimpse of his face. I see the resemblance immediately, and I remember that Tori's brother was named George. _Is,_ it seems.

For a moment, Tori simply stares at her brother in disbelief. Then, she pulls back and hits him hard across the face. And then she's yelling incoherently, and people are pulling her away, and George is crying and trying to apologize or explain or maybe both, and the whole room turns to chaos.


	7. Chapter 7: Tris – Outsiders

**Chapter 7: Tris – Outsiders**

The voice I hear most clearly is Tori's. It must be the pain in her tone that cuts through the other sounds.

"I killed Jeanine for you!" she shouts at George. "You made me into a murderer!"

Beside me, Tobias stands as rigid as the walls of the building, his eyes moving between his father and the man next to George.

"Who is that?" I ask, pulling on his arm, but he seems to be unaware I'm there. I've never seen Tobias so unresponsive, except when he was under the simulation. The sight sends a chill through me.

"I think it's Amar," Uriah says from behind me. "Our old initiation instructor. He's supposed to be dead, but it looks just like him."

A sinking feeling goes through me, and I lace my fingers into Tobias', trying to bring him back to me. He's had too many betrayals in his life already, and now his old instructor, the one who hid his Divergence to keep him alive, is adding to it. It feels like Amar has ripped something from inside my own chest in the process.

The third newcomer, a gray-haired woman who is not much taller than I am, stomps her feet loudly in a short pattern. The others near her stomp it back to her. She stomps it again, and a larger group responds. After the third time, the whole room stomps it in unison. She holds her arms up over her head and speaks in a voice that projects through the entire floor. "Eyes on me!" Every face in the room turns to her, even Tori's and Tobias'.

"Obviously, many of you recognize us," she says. "For those who don't, we used to live among you. We lived in the same factions you did. We shared your concerns and your lives. But we were recruited by the group Amanda Ritter told you about. We're here today because we need your help, and because _you_ need _ours_!"

A burst of excitement goes through me. This is our chance to learn more about those outside the city. This is what my parents wanted. But it's also why Jeanine started a war, and I know many here will resist the message these people are bringing.

I shift from side to side, trying to get a closer look at the woman who's talking. Her voice is smooth and practiced, the voice of a leader, and I feel an instant desire to trust her. But I don't trust people easily, so in an odd way the impulse makes me warier.

"This city is in tremendous danger," she continues, her tone conveying a deep sense of urgency. "There is an entire country outside of here that is poised to attack. We have protected you from them for years, but we can no longer do that by ourselves. We need some of you to help us, and you all need to get ready to defend yourselves!"

"Why should we believe you?" someone yells, and a murmur of agreement goes through the crowd.

"Because I was a Dauntless leader for sixteen years. Many of you know what Dauntless was like under my guidance. I ask those of you who were there – did I ever steer you wrong?"

Again, mutters fill the room, but this time, shouts of support mix in with them. Older Dauntless members around the room pump their arms in the air, calling, "Anna! Anna! Anna!"

Behind me, Uriah says suddenly, "I remember her, from when I was a kid. My mom really liked her."

"Why did she leave?" Cara asks, but I already know the answer. The Dauntless aren't allowed to grow old. Once it gets hard to jump on and off trains, you're "encouraged" to leave – to die or become factionless. It seems that Anna found a third option.

Abruptly, I remember something Tobias said once, back when I only knew him as Four. He told me that Dauntless used to be different, but that the leadership changed six years ago, when Max was brought on board. Anna must represent the old Dauntless values, before they started working with Erudite, before they started killing the Divergent.

"Thank you!" Anna calls to those shouting her name. "I should ask, too, of every initiate Amar ever trained – did he steer you wrong?"

Again, people shout in response, chanting his name and yelling their support. Tobias makes a little movement, like he wants to answer too, but he stops himself.

I can feel the mood of the crowd shifting. They're listening, and beginning to agree. Anna knows how to work them well.

"For those who aren't Dauntless," Anna continues, "there's another reason to listen. I'm Amanda Ritter's daughter." My pulse leaps into my throat. Amanda Ritter used another name, too – Edith Prior – which means that Anna must be related to me. The connection springs to mind just as she says the words. "And Natalie Prior's mother."

Tobias' hand clutches mine hard, but now I'm the one who is rigid and barely able to hear. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and my mind is racing. My mother grew up in Dauntless. As almost her last words to me, she said that she was Divergent, and that she only stayed safe because her mother was a Dauntless leader. Anna is that leader, my grandmother. Why did it never occur to me that she might still be alive? I never even thought to look for her face among the factionless.

But of course I didn't. I never knew her name. With a twinge, I remember my mother telling me that she didn't care about factions, that she loved me because I'm her daughter. But she told me nothing about her own life, nothing about her past. She raised me to believe in faction before blood after all.

Or perhaps she didn't know that her mother was still alive. I think of the shocked reactions among the crowd. Clearly, everyone thought these people were dead. Did my mother believe that too, like Tobias believed his mother had died? Anger rises in me at the thought. When my mother died, it felt like part of me was ripped out and I was left writhing in pain. Did she feel that too, because of a lie? And what kind of people are these three, who do that to the ones who love them, and then ask us to trust them anyway?

I'm vaguely aware that Christina's hand is on my shoulder and that Tobias is speaking to me, but all I want to do is shake this woman who claims to be my grandmother and get her to tell me the truth, to tell me everything.

Tobias moves in front of me, holding my arms firmly and leaning down so I have to look at his eyes. They're wide and almost black in the moonlight, and they finally break me out of my thoughts.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice low.

I swallow. "Yeah. Are you?"

He smiles a little. "I'll live."

"We need to get closer," Cara says, "so we can talk to them. I have questions, and I'm sure you do too." She's right about that.

Tobias nods grimly and pulls his gun, but he keeps it down as he turns toward the crowd. The rest of us do the same, and we walk together to join the people surrounding the outsiders. They shift to make room without seeming to actually notice us. Their eyes, like ours, are focused forwards.

But _they_ see us – Anna and Amar and Marcus and Johanna. Their eyes lock onto us immediately, and I know without needing to be told that they were hoping to find us here. That's not really a surprise. They want the Divergent, and Tobias and I are as Divergent as you can get.

Anna's eyes rest on mine as she says, "I believe it's time for some explanations."

"That would be good," I answer calmly, and I see Marcus' mouth curve into a little smile.

"This city was part of a country called the United States of America," Anna begins. "There was a major war, _a worldwide war_ , that destroyed entire countries and killed billions of people. Every weapon imaginable was used in humanity's quest to destroy itself. Bombs reshaped the landscape, and the massive lake that used to be here flowed away. This city ended up isolated, and everyone abandoned it. So, it was perfect for our use."

She smiles a little, sadly, and continues. "Toward the end of the war, both sides started experimenting with serums that could control people's thoughts. One side came up with what we call the Suggestibility Serum. As the name implies, it makes people follow suggestions from others. The developers used it to win the war, and they formed the New United States of America, or NUSA as we call it.

"But they were afraid of their own population afterwards, afraid of losing their power, so they kept using the serum. They add it to the country's water supplies, so _everyone_ drinks it every day. And they inject a receiver into every newborn baby, hidden inside a vaccination, so everyone receives the information they broadcast. That way, they can keep the entire population living as slaves." Her expression is bitter.

"But some people are naturally resistant to the serum. A group of them escaped from NUSA's control and came here. They reshaped Chicago into the city you know, and they've kept it safe and hidden for nearly sixty years now. During that time, they've sometimes pulled people out, when there was a strong need. That's how they've kept you all safe." She gestures to Amar and George and herself and says, "We're some of those people. I know you're angry that we fooled you, but there was no choice. You wouldn't still be here, alive and free, if they hadn't done that." She looks at me again, and I hesitate. My instincts say that she's telling the truth, and I usually trust my instincts, but I have no objective way to be sure.

George speaks, his voice tentative and his eyes on Tori. "The NUSA government is constantly trying to track down rebels. And when they do, they use a high dose of the serum to get information. No one can resist that type of dose. So, it's bad when they capture a rebel who knows about this city, really bad." He clears his throat and continues. "When the rebels pulled me out, that had just happened, and they were mounting a rescue mission. They needed someone who was strongly Divergent, and they knew I was in danger here, so they picked me."

He shrugs a little. "It kept me alive, and it kept the whole city safe for a while longer. Or at least safer than it would have been." His eyes plead with Tori, and I'm reminded suddenly of the way Caleb looked at me in Erudite. When Tori looks away, I can't blame her.

"Why didn't you just tell us what was going on?" Cara asks. "Why keep it all secret?"

George gives a short laugh. "We've been trying for almost two decades, but Jeanine got in the way. She decided she wasn't interested in stopping NUSA. Instead, she isolated the serum and began experimenting with it. She used it to get Erudite and half of Dauntless to follow her. She used it in the aptitude tests, to get people to switch factions when she wanted. She used it in those simulations you're so familiar with. And she used it in high doses to make people betray their friends and family to serve her."

The words send a chill through me, and suddenly it's difficult to breathe. Beside me, Tobias clutches my arm tightly, and I turn to him. But I already know what he's thinking, what he's going to say. The words echo through me. _Betray their friends and family…._

Tobias' eyes are intense on mine as he says, "We have to rescue Caleb." It's all I can do to nod.

"So, you see," Anna says, "you already know what you'll be facing when NUSA's army gets here. Total mind control for the rest of your lives – everything you just fought to avoid. And they're on their way. Because in all the chaos of this war, we weren't able to rescue the last rebel they caught."

For a moment, I close my eyes and try to picture the world they're describing. The image comes all too easily. The blank eyes in Amanda Ritter's video as their owners murdered and destroyed. The slack Dauntless faces as their hands shot Abnegation leaders in the head. Marlene stepping off the building with no knowledge of what she was doing. The expressionless Candor firing at Fernando as he climbed across the ladder.

"What do you need us to do?" I ask. Again, a shadow of a smile crosses Marcus' face, and I feel Tobias tense beside me, but Anna looks me in the eyes and nods seriously.

"We need a group of highly resistant people – what you call Divergent – to go to the capital and seize control of the equipment they use to broadcast messages. We need to broadcast our own message, to counter what the government has been sending, so we can free everyone."

Her eyes move from me to Tobias and to the others beside us, and then she says, "We'd like at least ten volunteers for that, preferably more." As she looks around at the crowd, she adds, "And we need everyone else to organize into an army, to protect this city if the NUSA soldiers get here before our mission succeeds."

I nod, about to speak, but Tobias places a hand on my arm, and I pause. He must want to discuss something first. I remember how angry I was when he made a deal with Evelyn without speaking to me privately first, so I close my mouth and wait for now.

Christina asks, "Only the Divergent can go?"

Anna shakes her head. "It's not quite that simple. We need people who are resistant to the Suggestibility Serum. Divergent people are, but so are some others. People who switched factions, for instance, are more likely to be resistant, as are people who were in Erudite but didn't side with Jeanine. We can test you if you want to come."

"How do you do that?" Cara asks suspiciously.

"We administer a low dose of the serum and gradually increase it until you begin to respond. It tells us how much you can take."

"What are the risks of that?" Tobias asks, his voice as tense as wire. His eyes flick to his father and back again, and I realize he's worried about something he hasn't told me. For a moment, I'm furious that he's keeping secrets again, but then I realize he hasn't had time to tell me about his day at Erudite yet. I try to believe that's what triggered his concern.

The rebels look at each other uncomfortably, and then Amar says quietly, "That depends on the person. The serum finds a path through your brain that gets you to follow the suggestion, and it strengthens that path. The higher the dose, the stronger the effect. Sometimes, if someone has a latent tendency towards a particular behavior, a high dose can bring that out." He glances at Marcus and then looks back at Tobias. "But it can't change who you are. It can't make you do something that's fundamentally against your nature." He steps toward Tobias and says again, "It can't."

That seems like an odd thing to stress, but as I look between Amar and Tobias, I begin to understand. Right or wrong, Tobias thinks that Marcus was given a high dose…and that it may have caused his violence.

And that it could do the same thing to him.

I don't know what to say.

"For what it's worth," Anna says, looking directly at Tobias, "we know that Jeanine added the serum to her mass simulations. And while we weren't able to get ahold of all the other simulation serums she tried, we strongly suspect they had even higher doses. It was her pet project, after all. So, if you were exposed to those and didn't react badly, you aren't likely to."

Tobias doesn't look reassured, but I know he must be thinking what I am. There isn't really a choice here. He and I stand the best chance of succeeding in this mission, and if the mission doesn't succeed, the battle will come here. There's no safety in either option.

I pull his arm, and he brings his ear to my mouth. "We have to go with them," I whisper. He draws away slightly, closing his eyes for a moment and then fixing his gaze straight ahead. He nods crisply, but he won't look at me.

"We'll go," I say to Anna.

Her eyes are thoughtful, and I think sad, as she nods. "Thank you," she says quietly. Then, she turns to the rest of the room. "Who else will go?"

But I don't hear the other responses. I hold Tobias' hand firmly and lean against him, trying to figure out how to reassure him that his greatest fears won't come true. That he won't become like his father, and he won't hurt me. And perhaps trying to believe it myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's deliberate that Anna has the "Prior" last name, even though that means it came to Tris through her mother and not her father. My reasoning is based on several passages from "Insurgent." That book states that surnames are just an additional means of identification and are rarely used in daily life. It also says that when a couple marries, one spouse takes the other's surname or they pick a new one together. Andrew left Erudite under bad circumstances and clearly wanted nothing to do with that place afterwards, so I don't see him being attached to his last name. On the other hand, Natalie's mother hid her Divergence and kept her safe. So, it seems reasonable to me that they would keep Natalie's last name, not Andrew's. I also chose to have Anna get that last name through her mother, rather than her father, in order to keep a completely female line leading from Amanda Ritter to Tris. I just kind of like that idea. :-)


	8. Chapter 8: Tobias – Decisions

**Chapter 8: Tobias – Decisions**

When I wake up, the space next to me is cold and empty. For a split second, I panic, as if she's gone to Erudite again, and then I'm annoyed with myself. She just woke up first, that's all. It's hardly surprising, given I was awake for more than 24 hours. But it's also the first time that's happened since we escaped from Jeanine.

I hear her voice filtering through the door, talking with Christina, and I'm about to join them when I decide it's time to do something about the accumulated sweat and grime and blood coating me.

The water is ice cold, but I force myself into the shower anyway. It burns almost like heat on the bruises covering my mid-section. The Dauntless were certainly thorough yesterday. But I scrub myself clean, gritting my teeth against the frigid temperature and the pain. I even shave – it's probably a bit stupid, given how much my hands are trying to shake from the cold, but it's almost a game at this point to see if I can hold them steady despite everything else. It's a skill that's helped me too many times for me to abandon it now.

When I finish, I pull out some of the clothes we collected from Candor, selecting black pants and a white shirt. It feels like a good day for honesty.

For a moment, I stand in front of the mirror, evaluating myself. It's hard for me to look at my reflection without seeing aspects of my father in me. I suppose it's because mirrors were so rare growing up in Abnegation, so I only saw those features on Marcus. But it's a reminder I don't want. I stare anyway, willing myself to see past that, to see who I am. Not my father's son, or even my mother's. Not a child of Abnegation, or someone shaped by Dauntless. _Me._ Am I anything more than that?

As I stare, other faces slowly begin to form around me, and I try to define myself through my connections to them. I'm Tris' boyfriend. She's saved my life, and I've saved hers. I've bent the city for her, and I don't regret that. In fact, I feel stronger for it. I'm Zeke's friend. I kept his brother safe through initiation, during what was probably the most dangerous time ever to be Divergent, and I protected him through the battle in ways he never noticed. I was in Shauna's initiation class. I fought Eric to help her and carried her to safety after she was shot outside Candor. I was Amar's friend, until he disappeared, and I thought he was dead. I honored him by protecting the initiates after he was gone.

When I think of them, I feel like I could be the person I want to be, brave and selfless and smart and honest and maybe even kind, sometimes. But I know I'm also the person who killed at least eight people in the last two weeks, including Eric. I'm also the person who betrayed Tori. She was the first one to make me think I could leave Abnegation and seek safety elsewhere, and I turned on her.

And I'm the person who's terrified to leave the city when it needs me most. As I think that, I see the cowering boy my father beat, the one who watched as he hit my mother, the one who protects himself first, no matter the cost to others. I need to leave that person behind today. I don't know quite how, but I can't be him anymore if I'm going to leave this city with Tris. And I _will_ do that.

I look directly into my eyes in the mirror and say the words I've said to every initiate before they face their fears, the words I said to Eric before I shot him. "Be brave."

And then I walk into the other room to join Tris and our friends.

They're gathered in a small circle, relaxing on a pile of blankets on the floor. Christina's leg is propped up, and she's leaning against Uriah, who looks somewhat uncomfortable with the contact. He's probably thinking about Marlene. He doesn't need to; I doubt Christina is looking for anything more than back support right now. She's still too hung up on Will.

Cara and Tris sit on either side of them, Cara with her hair neatly arranged as always, and Tris looking clean and wearing fresh clothes. She must have braved the cold water like I did. For a moment, my eyes take in her face, with her incredible eyes and those lips I love so much, and I wish we were alone.

"We're trying to figure out a rescue plan," Tris says.

I nod. "What have you come up with so far?"

"Not much," Christina answers. "To be honest, I think we're lacking motivation. I mean, how much are we going to risk ourselves to keep _Caleb_ safe?"

"You know," I respond, "I'd think that would make it easier. When Tris was in there, the plan had to be perfect, but with Caleb – well, if he breaks a leg or something in the escape, these things happen, right?"

Tris laughs, and Christina grins too. "Hmm, I'm getting it now," she says to Tris. "I'm beginning to see why you like him."

"Sorry," Tris says, her eyes on me, "but he's mine." I smile too.

"No problem," Christina laughs. "He's too scary for me anyway." And then her eyes light up with a realization, and she turns to Tris, saying, "Faceless, unidentifiable male, my ass! It was–" But Tris punches her hard in the arm, and she stops mid-sentence.

I don't know what they're talking about, but judging by the red spreading across Tris' face, I can take a guess. And I don't like it. I don't like that Tris had _that_ fear in the first place – that she saw _me_ in her fear landscape and that she's afraid of being with me in a way I increasingly want. And I certainly don't like that she apparently told Christina about it. Zeke always complains about how women tell each other everything, but somehow I never thought Tris was like that.

My face must show my reaction, because Tris is stammering now, trying to explain. "No, _that_ fear never really had anything to do with…anyone in particular." She's looking at the floor, discomfort obvious in her entire body. "I'm not sure you could really understand unless you grew up in Abnegation."

She looks up at me helplessly, but suddenly I'm focused on a single word. _Had._ Past tense. My annoyance vanishes, replaced by a mixture of hope and, oddly, amusement. The look on Tris' face truly is funny.

"I have no idea what you mean," I say casually. "As far as I know, people from Abnegation only have four fears, and they're all good, solid, manly fears." Christina snorts, and I continue, "People from Candor, on the other hand, are universally afraid of moths for some reason."

"Hey!" Christina exclaims. "That's not fair! Just because you saw my simulations doesn't mean you get to share them."

"Actually, it's very common to be afraid of insects," Cara states in a clinical tone. "It's probably a primitive fear we've carried forward from the distant past."

"Yeah, Four told me it was one of the best fears to fake," Uriah adds, "because no one would look at it closely."

The others all turn to stare at him, the beginning of the conversation forgotten now.

"What do you mean, _fake?_ " Tris asks.

Uriah shrugs. "Well, my biggest fear was having the Dauntless leaders find out I'm Divergent. That was my first simulation. It would have been…kind of a problem if anyone else had seen it." He looks at me and adds, "So, Four deleted it and taught me how to fake another fear instead." He grins at Christina. "As far as my official records are concerned, I'm deathly afraid of spiders."

I've never seen Tris' face look so blank. After a pause, she says, "You can fake a fear?" at the same time Christina says, "You seriously needed a fake fear? Didn't you have any _real_ ones to use?"

"Yes," I answer to both questions. "He just needed the computer to skip past his first fear and find the others. There's a technique you can use for that. It's kind of like how you can manipulate a simulation, Tris, by focusing on the image of a weapon and making it appear, or breaking a wall by thinking it's fragile. Or for that matter, like skipping some facts while under truth serum." I give her a pointed look. "You create a strong mental image and you project it to the computer. The computer focuses on it, and from there it moves on to other thoughts that are connected to that. So, if you provide a fake fear that leads to real fears, you can get it to skip the one you need to hide."

"That's…absolutely brilliant," Tris says. "Where did you learn that?"

The question has an uncomfortable answer, and for a moment I hesitate. But I've promised not to keep secrets from Tris, and there's no real reason to hide this from the others.

"Marcus taught it to me," I finally say. "When he was preparing me for the aptitude test. He was afraid I would show my Divergence, so he taught me some tips on manipulating the simulation. I never needed this one myself, but it was useful to Uriah."

For a moment, everyone is silent, and then Tris says quietly, "I wonder where he learned it." I never thought about that before, but the answer is apparent now, after last night. I don't bother saying it aloud, because Tris has clearly figured it out already, and the others don't need to know. He learned it outside this city.

* * *

After lunch, we focus again on how to rescue Caleb. I hate even thinking about the subject. It's a painful reminder of when Tris was in Erudite, and I was searching wildly for every possible way to retrieve her. It doesn't help that most of me would be quite happy to let Caleb die; I'm still far too angry at him. But someone needs to take charge of this effort, and if it's hard for me, it must be even harder for Tris.

"How did you get into Erudite two days ago?" I ask.

Tris, Christina, and Cara exchange looks, and then Cara says, "We found a ladder in the old school by the headquarters building, and we used it to form a bridge between the two buildings – connecting one window to another. Then, we climbed across it." As an afterthought, she adds, "It was Tris' idea."

For a moment, I picture all the people we shot making our way into Erudite, and I feel the full effect of not working with Tris during that battle. We could have entered the building together if I hadn't been too stubborn to listen, if I hadn't automatically dismissed what she said as my father's lies. But there's no point wallowing in guilt. As the Abnegation always say – said – I should let it remind me to do better next time. This time.

"I don't think anyone else knows you did that," I say, "so we could try it again."

"I imagine they found the ladder," Cara responds. "Either still between the windows or on the ground below, depending on whether or not it fell after Fernando died on it." Uriah winces at the description, but Cara continues. "Either way, they probably figured it out. Besides, that was the only ladder we could find."

"We could do something similar with rope," I comment, "if someone can tie it at the other end. Zeke, for instance." I hate asking Zeke for another favor, but I feel confident that he'd help.

"If only we had rope," Christina says caustically, but Tris' gaze meets mine, and we both smile.

"That, I can get," I say. "The harder part will be getting a message to Zeke. I'm not really welcome in factionless territory anymore, or Dauntless territory for that matter."

To my surprise, the others laugh. Uriah looks proud as he states, "That part, I can handle."


	9. Chapter 9: Tris - Fearless

**Chapter 9: Tris - Fearless**

By the time it's dark, we've worked out the details of the rescue plan. The actual rescue will take place tomorrow, since Christina and Cara both volunteered to be tested tonight, and Anna wants us to head out late tomorrow night.

I don't know how I hope the test will go. It's been really nice hanging out with Christina again, but I still remember her blank face during the simulation. If she goes with us, and she's not resistant enough, she's a danger to herself and to all of us. And after Will, I know I can't shoot another friend.

We all head toward the Hancock building together, since that's where the outsiders will be meeting the people who want to be tested. Halfway there, Tobias and I break off like we did last night, heading toward his factionless apartment. It's our job to get the rope and the other supplies we'll need for tomorrow and to get it all back to the other apartment at least an hour before dawn.

The moon hasn't risen yet, so it's dark when we enter the damaged lobby. I don't like the thought of walking over all that broken glass without light, but Tobias seems to know the path well, and he leads me through the darkness easily. I wonder how many times he's been here.

We walk to his apartment quietly, feeling the total silence like a pressure in the air. It's funny that we never seem to notice how loud the world is until all the noise is gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief once we're inside the apartment, with the lamplight glowing softly through the room again. It occurs to me that this is probably the safest we'll be for a long time. We should try to enjoy it.

I turn around to comment on that, but I stop at the expression on Tobias' face. He looks serious – and unusually vulnerable.

He clears his throat and begins a bit stiffly, "We said no secrets…so I need to tell you about yesterday..." But his voice trails off like he doesn't know how to continue, and he wraps a hand around the back of his neck as his eyes drift to the floor.

For a moment, I think of his arms around me last night as he taught me to shoot again, so much gentleness in his voice and his hold. And he did that after everything he'd been through – the Dauntless beating him, whatever spooked him so much about his father, the battle, my betrayal, and rescuing me – _twice_ – from Erudite. A rush of affection goes through me, and I step close to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my ear over his heart.

"I think I've guessed most of it," I say quietly.

For a few seconds, he stands there, his body rigid, but then he lets out a shaky breath and runs a hand lightly down my spine, his palm coming to rest on the small of my back and holding me to him as his other hand moves over my hair. It's hard to tell if he's soothing himself or me.

"I've been thinking about it all day," I add. "And the thing is, you're not like Marcus. You're just not."

Tobias stiffens again, and his voice is tense as he says, "You don't know that, Tris. Neither of us can know that. All we know is that I'm not like him _now_." He pauses, and the next words rip out of him painfully. "My mother says I'm just like he was at my age."

I pull back enough to look at him, a coldness filling me. "She's _lying_ ," I say angrily. "She doesn't want you to leave the city, so she's trying to scare you."

He shakes his head, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. "You didn't see her. She was telling the truth."

But I don't believe it.

"No," I say firmly. "She may have convinced herself of that, but that doesn't make her right." I place my palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fast and hard, and continue. "The first time I met her, you know what she told me?" He finally looks at me again, shaking his head slightly.

"She said that I'm only temporary in your life. That she's the only one who's permanent." His eyes widen, and I add in the same firm voice, "She wasn't lying when she said it, but was she right?"

For a moment, Tobias just stares at me. His voice sounds strangled when he says, "What?!"

I give a little shrug. "It's her opinion – it's not as simple as truth or lies. She's barely seen you since you were nine, but she's your mother, so she thinks she still knows you better than anyone else does. And she makes assumptions, like how you feel, or that you agree with her, or that you're like her or your dad. But she doesn't _know_ any of that. And she's _wrong_ about this."

He's looking at me desperately, and I know he wants to believe me, but then he shakes his head again, hard. "You heard Amar last night. He practically admitted that the serum changed Marcus…."

But I don't let him finish the thought. "He also said that the serum can't change your fundamental nature. Even if it affected your father, which I'm not sure I believe, that doesn't mean it would do the same thing to you."

Tobias jerks back, his face twisted with some combination of anger and grief. "That doesn't mean it _wouldn't_ , either! Believe me, I want to think I don't have that same flaw in me, but I _know_ what I did under the simulation." His voice is harsh and his breathing ragged as he adds, "I hurt you, and I almost killed you. _And you let me._ How am I supposed to feel safe after that?"

The words shock through me. All this time, I never wanted to know how it felt to wake up from the simulation, to have to face what you'd done while under it. I never asked Tobias or Christina or anyone else about it, but now I realize how much it's been haunting him. I stare at him helplessly, trying to come up with an answer.

"I need to know," he says roughly, "that if I ever…." He struggles with the words, and I think for a moment that he can't continue, but then he finds his voice again. "If I ever become like _him_ , that you won't just take it. That you'll find a way to stop me. I _need_ to know that, Tris, because trust me, I would much rather die than do that to you."

The words release the lock on my voice, and I say sternly, "Tobias, if the simulation had made you like _that_ , we wouldn't be standing here right now. But it didn't. I couldn't shoot you because you were still _you_. You hadn't changed." I run a frustrated hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to make Tobias understand, before I continue.

"Think about it – Jeanine threw everything she had at you. She gave you two injections in a row that were loaded with Suggestibility Serum. She projected a special simulation directly at you, one that was supposed to bring out the very worst in you. Then, she made you see me as an enemy in the middle of a war. But despite all that, the most she could get you to do was try to stop me."

I pause to breathe, stepping a little closer again. "You were never cruel, not once the whole time we fought. You didn't hurt me for the sake of hurting me – at all. You had several chances to shoot me, but you _didn't_. You just kept trying to stop me. And even when the simulation was screaming at you the loudest to kill me, you wouldn't do it. Instead, you woke yourself up."

I shake my head as I add, "You didn't almost kill me, Tobias. You made it clear that you never would, no matter what they do to you."

His breathing is shaky, and his eyes are glued to mine, but I think he's starting to believe me. I step even closer, placing my hands on his chest as I look up at his face.

"Jeanine couldn't change you because you're _not_ like your father. I know I've called you cruel before, but I'm sorry I said that, because it's not true. I only thought it was when I didn't understand your reasons for doing something. But now, I know that I've _never_ seen you be cruel. You're a good person, Tobias, all the way to your core. You're the best person I know."

I give him a little smile and add, "And I'm not afraid of you. Not even a little bit."

For another second, we stare at each other, and then I stand on tiptoes and kiss him. He stays rigid at first, not returning the kiss, but then he dissolves into it. His fingers slide through my hair and hook behind my ears, holding me to him as he deepens the kiss, filling it with passion and some type of wild energy that threatens to set everything inside me on fire.

I'm suddenly aware of just how hot it is in here, and I fumble with my jacket, trying to remove it without letting my lips leave Tobias'. He feels so _good_ pressed against me. But my fingers seem to have stopped working, and he ends up helping me, pushing the coat from my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor before tackling his own.

Finally, both our jackets are off, and then my hands are under his shirt, sliding over his smooth skin, feeling his muscles strong and perfect under my palms. Electricity is crackling everywhere I touch, and our breathing is becoming increasingly erratic. But I can't get enough of him. I feel bold, bolder than I've ever felt before. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, and I push it up, needing it out of the way. He obliges by lifting it over his head and tossing it to the side.

He stands before me, tall and muscular and absolutely amazing, and for a brief moment I remember the first time I saw him without a shirt. I was so nervous then, but right now, there's no fear at all – only a deep yearning and the certainty that _this_ is what I want. _He_ is what I want.

I move my mouth down, kissing him on his chest, and along his stomach, and I smile when he gives a little groan of longing. I've never thought of myself as pretty, but when he looks at me the way he is now, like I'm the only person he could possibly ever want, I feel _desirable._ I like the feeling.

"I love you, Tobias," I say, my mouth returning to his.

He pulls me to him, his hands on the skin of my lower back, under my shirt, as he kisses me so deeply I almost forget we're two separate people.

"I love you, too," he pants when our lips finally part enough for him to speak. I move to kiss him again, not wanting even a moment's separation between us, but he draws away slightly so he can meet my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I love you, Tris," he repeats, his voice deeper this time, and I understand why he's emphasizing it. He wants me to know that he's not just mirroring my words – that he really means it. But I already know that. Of course I do. He's _always_ meant it.

And as I look at him, our hands on each other and our breathing hard, I know this is right. Everything about us is right. I no longer have any doubt about that.

Our eyes hold each other's as I move my fingers down to the hem of my own shirt, where it's bunched up above Tobias' hands. I watch him as I pull it up carefully, lifting it over my head and letting it drop to the floor.

For a split second, I hesitate, wanting to keep my arms up to cover myself as I remember that I'm bony and small breasted, but the thought disappears almost as soon as it comes, lost in the look of awe on Tobias' face as he stares at me.

He grazes his fingertips gently up my sides, his eyes filled with love and desire. "You are so beautiful," he whispers, and in that moment I can't help but believe him.

I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth down to mine again, and this time he responds instantly. His hands caress my back, and my sides, as he holds me to him, kissing my lips, and then along my jaw, and behind my ear, and then slowly down my neck. When he finds my ravens, a sigh of pleasure escapes from me unbidden. I can feel him smile against my skin.

He straightens enough to meet my eyes, a twinkle of humor mixed in with the deeper emotions that fill his gaze. "So," he says, his voice low, "exactly how many fears do you have these days, Tris?"

A smile forms on my lips. "You'll have to define that word, Tobias," I answer brazenly. "Because right now I have no idea what fear is."

He grins, and in a single, swift motion, he sweeps me off the floor and into his arms, our skin pressing together as he carries me to the mattress. Despite what I just said, a surge of nervousness goes through me at the thought of where this is leading, but it's not like the anxiety I've felt so many times before. It's something I can handle.

And soon, even that apprehension goes away, replaced by a thousand new sensations as he murmurs his last secrets to me, the ones about how he feels and what he'd like to do with me, while we slowly remove the clothing that stands between us. Then, he's reaching back to his pants to get something from the pocket, and we're kissing again, and then more than kissing, and the love and the excitement and the joy and the yearning are mixing together into some new emotion that deserves a name all its own.


	10. Chapter 10: Tobias – 3:30 a.m.

**Chapter 10: Tobias – 3:30 a.m.**

When I wake up at three-thirty, Tris' warm body is snuggled against mine, her head resting in the crook of my arm. For a moment, I just let awareness of her fill me, noticing every place her skin touches mine, running the whole length of her. I've never woken to a better moment.

Last night wasn't what I expected. Health class in school just taught us the clinical basics of how the body works, and Abnegation ignored the subject of sex altogether. So, most of my information came from guys talking in the locker room, full of bravado and exaggeration of their exploits.

They always made it sound like the whole thing was about physical pleasure, and there was certainly plenty of that – far more intense than I imagined – but for me, that was only part of it. The larger part, I know without question, was only there because I was with Tris. I used to be embarrassed about being so inexperienced at the age of eighteen, but now I'm glad my first time was with her. I wouldn't have traded this for anything.

Tris shifts slightly, and feeling begins to return to my arm. It must have fallen asleep from being pressed under her. Pins and needles shoot through my wrist and fingers, painfully sharp, but I can't move my arm without disturbing her, and right now I'd rather gnaw it off than do that. She looks so sweet snuggled there.

I look up, realizing that we should have turned the lamp off. There's no point wasting batteries. But it's out of reach, and I decide I don't care that much. We probably won't need it after tonight anyway. Instead, I turn my head away from the light, pressing my lips to Tris' soft hair and breathing in her scent, and I let myself return to sleep. My dreams are amazing the rest of the night, but no more so than reality. This is how life should always be.


	11. Chapter 11: Tris – Breaking In

 

**Chapter 11: Tris – Breaking In**

The Dauntless are being housed in the north end of the Erudite compound, so our closest option is a building on the other side of Garland Court. We slip quietly past the large supports under the train tracks and into the Wabash Avenue entrance just as the sun is starting to light the sky. The building is silent and empty as we make our way cautiously to the back of the eighth floor.

The windows don't line up well, so it takes several tries to find a spot where we can see the broken window next to Zeke's room. We're above and to the right of a straight view, but it's as near as we can get – some forty feet away. A ladder clearly wouldn't have worked from here.

We watch the street below for factionless patrols and time the guards as they pass. There's almost an eight-minute interval between rounds. It's long enough to work with.

A minute after the third patrol, Tobias pries the window to the fire escape open, positions himself where he has a clear shot, and begins throwing pebbles carefully at Zeke's window. He hits it every time, and I can't help but smile a little at his aim.

"He's a heavy sleeper," Uriah says with a shrug after the tenth pebble. At least we have a bucket full of them.

Tobias stops a minute before the next patrol is due, stepping back from the window and next to me. We wait in silence, but after a moment, he turns to look at me, a little smile on his face. I can't prevent a return smile from forming. In some ways, today feels awkward, after last night, but I've also never felt closer to him. He places his hands on my hips and leans down, kissing me slowly. It feels like electricity is pulsing through every part of my body.

"You know, there are other rooms you two could go to if you really need one," Cara says eventually, and I realize the guard must be well past by now. Tobias pulls away, his eyes on mine for a moment longer before he turns to the others.

"Just filling the time," he answers calmly as he resumes his place by the window, tossing pebbles again.

I clear my throat and turn to Christina. "How did the test go?"

She grimaces in annoyance. "I'm resistant, but not as much as they'd like. Between that and my leg injury, they basically put me on the bottom of the list. If they get enough other people, I'm out. Otherwise, maybe I can go." She shrugs as if to say _who needs them anyway_. Then she adds, "Cara did better."

"Yes," Cara answers in her precise manner. "It seems that betraying Jeanine from within Erudite took a high level of resistance. And helping you took even more. They said I tested almost as high as the Divergent."

She purses her lips thoughtfully and then adds, "I don't quite trust them, though. They don't seem to be telling us everything."

"What do you mean?" Tobias asks, an edge to his voice.

"Well, some of their explanations didn't make sense, and they didn't answer when I pressed them on it." She looks at us like she's trying to figure out how to explain it in simple enough terms and then says, "For instance, they said that Jeanine isolated the serum by comparing unfiltered water from outside the city with the water after it's been filtered. But if the point of founding this city was to breed a resistant population, they wouldn't do that by filtering _out_ the serum. It's a basic principle of science that more exposure leads to more resistance, not the other way around."

"So, they've been _adding_ the serum to our water?" I say, my voice tight.

"That's the most logical explanation," Cara answers. "Assuming they started with a naturally resistant population, the best way to make us more resistant would be to keep us constantly exposed to higher and higher doses. It's like an alcoholic needing to drink larger and larger quantities to get drunk."

She pauses thoughtfully and then adds, "That would also fit with the way they set up our society. If the serum makes us embrace what we're taught, we would stay in the faction we were raised in unless we're resistant enough to choose another. And it's well known that faction transfers tend to marry other transfers, because they have that common background, so it's a good way of ensuring that the most resistant people have children together, and those children would probably be even more resistant. It's very effective."

For a moment, we all stare at Cara. "What?" she asks. "I didn't say I agree with it, just that it meets their goals."

"Yay," Christina says bitterly. "We're prize cows…."

I laugh, but only briefly. I don't like the thought that these people have been manipulating us all our lives, the same way they said the outside government was. But I have to admit that Cara's probably right. It's consistent with what Amanda Ritter said in the video.

"Do you think there's anything else they haven't told us?" I ask Cara, but Uriah waves his hands frantically, and Tobias steps back from the window again, and I realize the factionless guard must be making another round. Just how soundly does Zeke sleep?

We're quiet for the next minute, and then Tobias resumes throwing pebbles. This time, there's a flutter of curtains at Zeke's window, and we can see his face peering out. Tobias immediately tosses another pebble, and Zeke turns directly toward us. His mouth forms an "o" of surprise, and then he grins as he pushes his window open to see us better.

Uriah begins signaling, holding up his open hand for a dash and a closed fist for a dot. Zeke signals back, the two of them flying through their Morse code so fast I have no idea what they're saying. I feel a twinge watching them. We're here to rescue my brother, but Caleb and I were never anywhere near as close as these two. It feels wrong to put them at risk to help him.

After a moment, Uriah says, "Caleb's trial was yesterday, and they found him guilty. His execution is scheduled for next Tuesday." His words bring the reality home, and I know that I can't let Caleb die. My parents would never approve, no matter what he did, especially if he really was under some form of mind control. I try to believe he was. It's not enough to make me forgive him, but it's easier not to hate him so much that way.

Uriah continues signaling and then asks, "Where do we want to try crossing to the other building, and when?"

"The windows don't line up well enough," I say, "so it has to be the roof, doesn't it?"

I glance at Tobias, knowing how he hates heights, but he just nods. "We can't all make it within the six minutes between patrols, and we can't risk having someone spot the rope during the day, so it'll have to be after dark. But the sooner after the sun goes down, the better. We still have a lot to do tonight."

Uriah nods and finishes the Morse conversation. "Okay," he says eventually. "Zeke will make it work." He smiles a little and then adds, "But he says you owe him big time. Something about Tris having to kiss him…."

I look up, startled, at the same time Tobias says, "I didn't realize Zeke had such a death wish."

Uriah smiles. "It's the Dauntless in him. He can't help himself. But feel free to tell Shauna he said that."

Tobias grins. "I'm pretty sure we can work that into the plan."

* * *

We stake out the roof well in advance. I don't know where Zeke will attach the rope on his side, but there are stone pillars we can wrap it around on ours. The bigger problem will be the actual passage. It's a slight climb to the other roof, but there's not a huge height difference, so it won't be an easy passage in either direction. We'll have to haul ourselves with our hands and legs.

Cara looks downright scared as she evaluates the drop. "I don't think I can do this," she says shakily. "I'm not as strong as the rest of you."

Tobias presses his mouth into a line. "No, you're not, but we need you to guide us once we're there."

I look behind us. We're standing on a roof, but part of the building continues above us into a tower. It's even farther away from the other building, probably fifty to sixty feet away in total, but the extra height could make the trip easier in some ways.

"What if we go up higher?" I ask. "And use one of those windows? If we get enough of a height difference, we could slide down the rope to that roof easily."

"Kind of like zip-lining," Uriah agrees, "but without a harness."

Tobias thinks about that and then says, "We can't come back that way – it would be too steep a climb and too far. And we don't have enough rope to make two paths. Besides, it's harder to get on the rope from a window than a roof."

I nod. "Okay, then maybe we can form a safety harness of some kind and tie that over the rope. So, if anyone loses their grip, there's something to catch them."

Cara still looks scared, but I can tell the idea is reassuring to her. I doubt it will make a difference to Tobias, though. His fear is of the height itself, and perhaps of the rope breaking – not of his ability to hold his own weight across the gap. He's too strong to worry about that part.

"That's a good idea," Christina says, and to my surprise, she looks almost as hesitant as Cara. I don't know why, since Christina held herself over the chasm with just her fingertips. She's certainly strong enough and fearless enough to manage this. But then I remember her leg. There's no way for her to avoid using it for this particular task, and I don't know how she can carry her crutch, either.

Abruptly, I remember Fernando's glasses falling as he crossed on the ladder, and how he died for that mistake, and a stab of fear goes through me.

"You're going to have to stay here," I say quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

Christina's mouth pulls into a sour expression, but she nods. "Yeah, I'm not dumb." She sighs and adds, "It's okay. I probably would have slowed you guys down, anyway. I'll just…stay here and help you climb onto the roof when you come back."

* * *

We spend the day making safety harnesses. The design takes some thought, since none of us has made anything like it before, and then actually making the harnesses proves to be quite a process. It takes ages to cut through the rope to form each piece. But we have them done an hour before dark, in time to head back to the roof for the other preparations.

Tobias attaches the main rope firmly around one of the stone pillars and tests it repeatedly to ensure it's solid. He has the rest of us double-check it, too, just in case. There can't be any mistakes.

Then, we stand there waiting, Tobias' fingers laced through mine, as the worry grows stronger and stronger inside me. The first part of the plan doesn't bother me – I've always loved heights – but I'm increasingly nervous about the rest of it. How can I risk my friends' lives for Caleb? How can I possibly risk _Tobias'_ life for someone who betrayed me?

Tobias must sense my thoughts, because he begins sliding his thumb in gentle circles on the back of my hand. I know he means it as a soothing gesture, but it reminds me of being in a train full of Dauntless under the simulation, headed to Abnegation to murder their leaders. I went there to save my parents…. But Caleb got there first.

And suddenly it occurs to me that they would have died before I reached them if he hadn't been there. I wouldn't have been able to see them that last time. For that matter, I would have died, too, without my mother there to save me from Jeanine's water tank. It's still not enough to make me forgive my brother, but it does make me feel a little better about what we're doing.

A movement catches my attention, and I see that Zeke is on the other roof. Tobias sees him, too, and immediately throws the weighted rope across the long gap between the buildings. Zeke catches it neatly and secures it. I'm not sure where, but he's the one who attached me to the zip-lining harness a thousand years ago, so I have to trust that he can tie a good knot.

Uriah is the first to cross. It's hard to see him well in the growing darkness, but I don't hear any problems, and after a while, I feel him tug the rope in the pattern that indicates he's safe.

"Cara, you're next," Tobias says firmly, and without waiting for a response, he begins connecting her safety harness. I can feel, rather than see, how much Cara is shaking, but she doesn't complain, and she begins crossing wordlessly. It takes her far longer than it took Uriah, but eventually we feel the same tug saying she got there.

"Tris, you're up," he says tightly, his hands on my shoulders as he guides me to the right spot. He secures the harness carefully, checking it four times, though he must know that it's really just a formality. The harness concept was for Cara. The rest of us aren't likely to need them at all.

Halfway across, I realize I was wrong about that. It's much harder to hold onto the rope than I expected, particularly since my shoulder hasn't entirely healed from the gunshot wound weeks ago. I slip twice, barely catching myself both times. The adrenaline pounds through me, and I'm very glad to have the harness holding me in place.

By the time I get to the other side, my palms are moist with sweat, and they burn from holding the rope so tightly. Uriah and Zeke pull me up, each of them holding an arm. My legs are wobbly when I'm finally standing again, and I step back enough to hide the shakiness in the darkness.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Are you okay?" Uriah asks with concern, and I suspect my voice must be shaking a little too.

"I'm fine," I say firmly. And then I add, "But I'm not kissing either of you."

Zeke laughs. "Now, how can you possibly resist this?" he says, and even in the dark, I can see him waving his hands grandly across his front. I don't answer. There's really not much I can say to that.

Tobias crosses much more quickly than I expected. Perhaps it's easier for him to move fast so he has less time to think about the height. When Zeke and Uriah pull him up, Zeke gives him a quick hug. It's a Dauntless gesture that probably makes Tobias uncomfortable, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he joins me immediately, giving my hand a squeeze. His body still feels stiff from suppressed fear.

"Your girlfriend reneged on the kiss," Zeke says after a moment, "so I guess _you_ owe me one."

Tobias gives a slightly strangled laugh and says, "Later. Right now, we have a different unpleasant task to complete."

"Right," Zeke comments. "I brought you some less suspicious shirts. They've got everyone wearing mixed colors now, to 'help eliminate our attachment to the former factions.'" He does a surprisingly good imitation of Evelyn as he says that. In his normal voice, he adds, "And then hopefully Cara knows the quietest route to the prison section."

We change shirts in the dark. It takes a few tries to figure out which ones are the right size for each of us, but eventually we're all wearing something appropriate. Zeke must have brought one of Shauna's shirts for me, because it actually fits fairly well. I leave it loose so it will hide the gun stuck in the waist of my pants, and we all leave our coats here. They'll attract unwanted attention inside. I just hope we take this route back, or it will be a very cold walk to the apartment.

Tobias gives Zeke the extra gun he brought, and Zeke hides it deftly before heading back into the building. A moment later, he signals that the coast is clear, and the rest of us follow quietly.

By now, I know how long the hallways of Erudite are, but it still seems like Cara leads us on the longest possible route. I swear it takes us days to get there. Several times, we pass other people, but Zeke greets them boisterously, drawing their attention to him, and they barely glance at the rest of us. I begin to appreciate Zeke's talent for focusing people on him. It's so different from everything I learned in Abnegation, but it definitely has its place.

Finally, Cara stops and whispers, "We turn left at this corner, and we'll be in the prison section."

Tobias nods and starts forward, but Zeke catches him by the arm. "Are you nuts?" he whispers. "Everyone knows who you are. Let me go first, or they'll call for help before you even get there."

But Tobias shakes his head firmly. "You can't. If they know you helped us, you'll get in trouble too, and then what will Shauna do?" An uneasy look crosses Zeke's face, and it's clear he has no answer for that.

For a moment, we all look at each other, and then Uriah steps forward. "They don't know me well, and I can handle a gun. It's got to be me." I can tell Zeke and Tobias both hate the idea, but it makes sense, and eventually they stand to the side to let him pass.

The rest of us stand rooted in place, listening to Uriah's footsteps move down the hallway. Zeke and Tobias both look tense, their hands fidgeting on their guns. I wrap my fingers around mine, glad that I can touch it again now, but I don't draw it yet. If someone walks by, we already look way too suspicious.

Uriah's voice travels down the hall as he talks with someone, presumably the guards. I can't tell what he's saying, but I hear laughter. He must be working his charm. And then the laughter ends, and the voices are tense – but not loud. As a guess, he's got them at gunpoint and has warned them against yelling.

"Hey, give me a hand," he calls, and we're around the corner so fast it's almost funny.

The guards are kneeling on the floor, facing away from us, their guns undrawn at their sides. I walk around to face them, so they can see me clearly as I point my gun at them. Their eyes are wide as Uriah and Tobias take their weapons and bind their hands with the plastic ties we brought.

"Quietly now," Tobias warns them coldly, as he pulls the guard in front of him to his feet. Beside him, Uriah does the same, and we begin walking to Caleb's cell. _My old cell._ My hands get clammy at the thought, and I can feel my heart starting to race. I'm not here to die, I try to remind myself. I'm not I'm not I'm not. But it feels like I am.

As we round the last corner, I immediately know something is wrong. There are two more guards standing outside Caleb's cell, weapons already in their hands. And the guns are instantly trained on us. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize one of them. Peter. For a moment, I'm a prisoner again, and he's leading me back to this cell, and my heart is pounding so hard it feels like it will burst out of my chest at any moment.

How can he possibly be here again? How does he manage to worm his way into this position with everyone who's ever in charge?

Peter aims his gun squarely at Tobias' head and says calmly, "I'm pretty sure none of you want me to shoot _him_." The guard who is standing beside him starts and glances quickly at Peter.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and Peter smiles. It's the same smirk he wore when he taunted me on the rooftop at Dauntless, the same one on his face during our first fight, as he turned my entire body black and blue, the same one he's worn every time he's hurt me or insulted me. And suddenly I don't feel anything except hatred for him. I don't even feel fear. I point my gun directly at him.

"Oh, relax," he says dismissively, rolling his eyes at me. "I'm just returning a favor I owe your brother." And he speaks to the guard beside him. "If you think Evelyn wants her son dead, go ahead and do something dumb. Otherwise, I'd suggest you put your weapon down and open that door."

My jaw drops, and I stand there staring stupidly. I feel like I did when Peter saved my life, in almost this same location. Once again, I have absolutely no idea what to think about him. Beside me, I'm aware of Tobias standing rigidly, and I think he must be as confused as I am. But the guard sets his gun on the floor and fumbles with the door lock. And then we're pulling Caleb out wordlessly and locking the guards into the cell and moving swiftly back the way we came, with Peter following us, and all I can think is "not again."

I don't want to travel with Peter. I don't want to be anywhere near him. I don't want to trust him or help him. But somehow, I'm here again with Peter and Caleb both beside me as we head into an uncertain future. _Not again._


	12. Chapter 12: Tobias – Leaving

**Chapter 12: Tobias – Leaving**

We follow Cara's lead, running when she does and walking as casually as possible the rest of the time. Whenever we pass people, we group ourselves to one side of the hallway, keeping the most recognizable of us blocked from view. Unfortunately, most of us are well known at this point, so it's not easy, but Zeke continues to draw people's attention as much as possible, and Peter, surprisingly, helps him.

I never know what to make of Peter, or how much to believe of what he says, but I doubt he's doing all this to help Caleb. It's more likely that he wants to leave the city and is using us as a convenient way to get there. The thought doesn't bother me – if it's true, at least we have a common goal for now, and Peter is most trustworthy when he wants something from us. Not that trustworthy is a term I'd ever use for him.

Caleb has the sense to stay quiet. I walk between him and Tris so she won't have to see him if she doesn't want to. She doesn't, of course, and she keeps her eyes focused ahead, watching for trouble. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Caleb sneaking furtive glances at her. He's probably hopeful that the rescue means she's forgiven him, as if these hallways aren't enough of a reminder why she shouldn't. Yesterday's conversation passes through my mind, and I consider breaking his leg to make it clear how we all feel. If I picked the spot carefully, he could still work his way across the rope….

As we near the ladder that leads to the roof, my thoughts shift, and it occurs to me how much we've endangered Zeke today. I pull him through a door on the left, and the others follow us into what turns out to be a lab. The equipment has been smashed, and the tables are pushed out of the neat lines I'm sure they were in a few days ago, but the sight still brings up unpleasant memories. I squash them down and turn to Zeke.

"Did that guard see you?" I demand.

Zeke shrugs. "I doubt it. He seemed pretty focused on you two," and his eyes flick between me and Tris. But his expression tells me he's lying, or at least that he's not sure he's right.

"You should come with us," I say firmly. "We're leaving the city, so we won't be able to help you if anything happens, and you could be in real danger if you stay here."

Zeke shakes his head, his expression far more serious than usual. "I can't, Four…not with Lynn gone. Shauna needs me, and I won't leave her." A weight sinks through my stomach. So many people died in the battle, and I don't even know about most of them. I hadn't realized Lynn was one. I think of how worried Shauna was about her little sister during initiation, and I understand how devastated she must be now.

For a moment, my eyes close in regret. I shouldn't have asked Zeke to help us today, wouldn't have if I'd known...but of course there was no real choice. I make a quick decision.

"Any chance there's paper and a pen in here?" I ask, glancing around the room.

Cara gives me a scathing look. "This is Erudite. _Of course_ there is." And she opens a drawer on the nearest lab bench and hands me both, as if they're as readily available as air in this place.

I sit down and begin writing. I'm not good at this, but it needs to be done, so I write quickly.

Uriah walks over to Zeke, and I try not to listen as they say goodbye. On the other side of the room, Caleb is asking questions that Peter is answering, probably because no one else will. The thought of _Peter_ being the friendliest person in the room distracts me for a moment, but I force myself to focus.

When I finish, I scan the letter briefly, fold it in thirds to hide its contents, and push it into Zeke's hands.

"If you get in trouble, give this to my mother. But only if you need to, because there's always a chance it'll make things worse." I give a half shrug. "We have a complicated relationship."

Zeke stares at me for a moment and then says, "Wow, I got a hall pass from the principal's son…" but he smiles as he says it. Then, he adds, "Should I read it?"

" _I_ certainly would. How else will you know when to use it?"

Zeke nods. "Thanks," he mutters. And then he gives me a hug. I've never been comfortable with contact from anyone except Tris, but it's not so bad with Zeke. We've been friends for a long time, after all, so I do my best to hug him back.

When I break away, he says, "You know, someone still owes me a kiss." He waggles his eyebrows at Tris suggestively, and even though I know he's joking, my hands form fists immediately. I really need to lighten up on the whole jealousy thing….

To my surprise, Cara speaks up in a huffy voice. "Oh, for god's sake – we're in a hurry you know." And she marches right up to Zeke and plants a kiss on his mouth. The entire group goes silent in shock.

She looks him straight in the eyes and says, "There, did that satisfy your need for male posturing?"

"Umm," he says blankly, his face going beet red. He looks at me helplessly. "I didn't think anyone would really do it." But I'm laughing too hard to say anything in response. I've never seen Zeke blush before, and suddenly all the pressures of the day dissolve into that single expression, and it seems like the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Behind me, Uriah says, " _My_ male posturing could use some satisfying," and then Zeke is howling too, tears of laughter actually leaking from his eyes.

Cara throws her hands in the air in disgust and stalks out of the room. I'm vaguely aware of the others following her, and I try to pull myself together. Tris passes me, a hand pressed to her mouth to stay quiet, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and I have to look away.

Uriah grabs my arm in one hand and Zeke's in the other and hauls us toward the door, but there's an enormous grin on his face. "You know," he says, "I'm never going to look at Cara the same way again…."

We finally regain control on the roof as the cold air blasts us. It feels like a storm is approaching, and the wind will make the already challenging passage that much harder. I think of Tris' slight build and decide I'd better cross first. I don't trust anyone else to pull her off the rope in these conditions.

The moon hasn't risen yet, but the streetlights below are on, as are lights in many of the windows, so the air isn't as dark as it was earlier. We use the extra light to get our coats and safety harnesses on, double-checking each other's straps to make sure they're secure. I'm glad Tris thought of these. It's not that I needed mine, really, but it reduced my fear a lot more than I expected. I don't know why, but being near a ledge always makes me feel like I'm going to jump off, as if I'll suddenly be unable to stop myself from leaping for no reason, and the harness took that thought away.

"Hey, I need one of those too," Peter says loudly, and I try to resist the urge to punch him.

"I'll toss mine back here when I'm done," I tell him. "Make sure you catch it." Peter looks like he wants to respond, but I suspect he's remembering our last conversation, and he wisely decides to shut his mouth for a change.

I crouch down, looping my harness over the rope and securing it well, checking it more times than necessary. Looking up at Zeke, I say, "Make sure theirs are secure before they go, okay?"

He nods. "You know I will, Four." And he rests a hand on my shoulder in farewell. I take a deep breath and swing myself onto the rope, wrapping my hands and knees tightly in place. _There is no height_ , I tell myself firmly. _There is no fear._ My vision goes black around the edges, leaving only a view of the building ahead, and I move as quickly as I can toward it. An image of Tris climbing the Ferris wheel comes to mind, and I picture myself following her, one step, one hand at a time, her light form just above me, enticingly near. I really would follow her anywhere.

When I reach the end, Christina reaches out to help me. She seems to have used some extra rope to brace herself so she can pull better. It's a clever idea. I accept her assistance, fighting the instinct that says she isn't strong enough, isn't big enough, isn't trustworthy enough to keep me from falling, and she pulls me to safety.

For a moment, I stand on the roof, letting relief flood through my limbs. Then, I detach the safety harness and begin working it off my body. I don't throw it immediately, though – I won't do that until Tris is safely here. If Peter misses it or something, I don't want him trying to take Tris'.

She crosses next, probably anxious to get away from Caleb and Peter, and I pull her up easily. Christina grabs her other arm, but there's no need. I'd never let Tris fall.

The others arrive gradually, Christina's eyes widening as she sees Peter among them, but no one talks. By now, the alert may have sounded, and everyone's nerves are on edge.

When we're all safely on this side, Zeke surprises me by throwing the rope back to us. I was going to leave it behind, since I don't expect to need it anytime soon, but technically he's right to hide how we broke in. You never know when we might need to use this approach again. So, we cut the rope free from the stone pillar, gather the supplies, and hide them in a closet on our way out. And then we begin the slow, arduous trip out of the city, fighting the cold wind and the beginnings of snow.

For a long time, we walk in silence, flitting from building to building to stay out of sight. Gradually, the moon rises, and the snow thickens, creating a hazy glow to the air. It's impossible to see more than ten feet away, but that ten feet is surprisingly well lit.

Once we're clear of Erudite, Tris turns to Peter and Caleb and says bluntly, "We're leaving the city. It will be dangerous and definitely below your standard of living. If you prefer to hide somewhere in the city instead, you should go now." And she gestures to her right, toward the expanse of uncontrolled buildings. It's clear from her expression that she'd be thrilled if they left.

"I'm going with you," Peter answers immediately. "There's no way I want to be in this city when that army arrives." Well, at least his motives are clear now.

"What army?" Caleb asks, his voice concerned, but Tris turns away, clearly unwilling to talk to him more than necessary. I take her hand and start walking again, letting our backs form our answer. Behind us, I hear Cara whispering to Caleb, giving him the explanation we aren't willing to provide.

By the time we reach the meeting point, the snow is starting to accumulate. A figure I recognize as Amar emerges from the shelter of a decrepit building, holding up a hand in greeting. I nod stiffly in return. It's difficult to trust him again, though now that the initial shock has worn off, I have to admit I'm glad he's alive.

"I was starting to worry you'd changed your mind," he says when he's close enough for us to hear. He claps me on the shoulder, but I shrug away. It's still too familiar a gesture.

"We had something else to take care of first," Tris says, stepping forward as if to make sure he notices her. I smile a little at the idea that anyone could miss her. She may be small, but she radiates far too much energy for that.

Amar nods. "We haven't actually been introduced," he says casually, holding out a hand Dauntless style. "I'm Amar. I was Four's initiation instructor."

"I know," Tris answers matter-of-factly as she shakes his hand – badly, as the Abnegation always do. "And you know I'm Tris. It was clear the other night that you knew who we all were. I'm assuming Marcus told you?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" Amar says with a smile, but he doesn't answer her question. Instead, he turns to Peter and Caleb and says, "You, I don't know."

Christina pipes up immediately. "This is Peter, the guy from our initiation class who tried to kill Tris. And this is Caleb, Tris' brother who also tried to kill her. For some reason beyond my comprehension, we just rescued them from Erudite."

Amar blinks a few times into the silence, and then Caleb says, "I didn't really…" but he stops when I look at him, obviously remembering the rules I gave him the other day.

Peter puts on his innocent face and says, "You forgot to mention that I also _saved_ Tris' life, quite recently as I recall. So, you don't get to hold that stunt in Dauntless over me anymore."

" _Stunt?_ " I say in disbelief. I remember the look on Tris' face when she said that they'd _touched_ her, and fury almost blinds me.

Amar steps forward hastily, placing a firm hand on my arm. It's the grip of an instructor preventing an imminent fight, and I force myself to breathe, to calm down.

"Peter has a warped definition of what counts as being even," Tris says with an anger that matches mine.

"Well," Amar says carefully, "you're going to have to put up with each other a little longer. We've been taking people to the camp in groups, and you're the only ones left, so we all need to go together as soon as George gets back. I trust you can keep your hands off each other that long?"

Silence answers him, but he apparently accepts that as assent, because his voice is level as he says, "Good."

After a long pause, Tris asks stiffly, "Are we crossing at the gate?"

Amar shakes his head, looking glad of the chance to change the subject. "No, there are some weak spots in the fence that we use to pass in and out quietly. No guards that way."

We nod and fall back into silence. After another minute, I wrap an arm around Tris and pull her away from the others to an area where we can wait privately. I can feel Amar's eyes following us curiously, but I've had it with people right now.

Under the eave of the building, Tris leans against me and says quietly, "I didn't expect to have to see _him_ again. It's bad enough dealing with Caleb, but the two of them together…."

"I know," I answer softly. "Trust me, I know." And I remember that Marcus will undoubtedly be wherever we're going, completing the group of people I hate most in this world – out of the ones who are still alive, anyway.

I pull Tris closer and lean my face next to hers, our cheeks rubbing gently. "But you know what," I whisper, "we're more than a match for them." I can feel her smile against my skin.

"That's true," she whispers back. "They're spineless, whereas _you_ are a Dauntless legend. I like our odds." And she turns her face and kisses my cheek, her breath warm on my cold skin. An ache goes through me, waking up parts of me that are definitely not appropriate for this moment, and I pull back slightly, leaning against the wall and tucking her to my side. And together we wait.

Finally, a beat-up old SUV crunches toward us, deep black in the misty light. It rocks from side to side as it makes its way slowly over the uneven pavement, sliding a little in the snow. It looks less than appealing.

Despite that, we pile inside when it stops. Tris presses herself against the window in the middle row, and I sit next to her, trying to ignore Uriah shoved against my other side and Peter breathing behind me. Christina and Amar take the front seat, next to George, exchanging friendly smiles. They must have spent some time together during the testing last night.

The front seat occupants chatter cheerily during the ride, as George drives us down a series of increasingly damaged roads. Behind me, I hear soft talk between Caleb and Cara. Tris and I stay quiet, and Uriah somehow manages to nod off despite the bumpy ride. For the first time, I wonder what time they returned to the apartment last night, and how much sleep they got.

After a long while, George pulls into an old parking garage, and then he and Amar lead us on foot to the fence that surrounds the city. Amar slides a hidden section back, revealing an opening, and we make our way through it one by one.

This area doesn't look much different than what's inside the fence, consisting of crumbling buildings and jagged roads. We walk into the wind, the snow blowing into our eyes, until we reach a hidden spot with another vehicle – a van this time – and then we're riding again, enclosed in the windowless back, feeling every bump and having no idea where we're going. I've been in quite a few vehicles over the years, but this is the closest I've ever come to being sick from the motion.

The journey seems to take hours, but finally the van bumps to a stop, and the engine cuts out. George opens the door and says enthusiastically, "Welcome to the rebel camp!"


	13. Chapter 13: Tris – Evaluation

**Chapter 13: Tris – Evaluation**

At first, I see nothing but snow. It must have picked up considerably during the ride, and for a moment, I'm glad we didn't have windows in the back of the van. The bumpy ride was nauseating enough as it was; it would have been worse if I'd realized George was driving blind.

The wind is harder now too, and bitterly cold. I shiver in my coat, and for the first time I look at Caleb with something like sympathy. We left Candor with enough coats for us, but no extras, so he's been in this weather with just his indoor clothes and a sweater. Peter has too, but despite everything, I find it harder to feel bad for him than for Caleb. I shouldn't let him get to me so much.

"Where, exactly, is this base?" Cara asks, voicing what we're all thinking.

"Underground," Amar answers as he joins us from the other side of the van. "We use an old bomb shelter that was built just before the war. It keeps us hidden and well stocked with food and water."

Tobias and I exchange a quick look and I can tell he doesn't know what a bomb shelter is either. I guess we'll find out soon enough.

Amar gestures for us to follow him and walks into the swirling snow. It's slippery, and we grab onto each other as we start sliding, but fortunately it's a short walk before we pass into an entrance of some sort, flanked by armed guards on both sides. George talks quietly with one of them as Amar leads us forward. I see the other guard eyeing us closely, her finger staying on the trigger of her gun, but her expression turns almost to recognition as she looks at me. She nods in acknowledgement, and I shiver slightly. As far as I know, I've never seen her before. Perhaps she sees Anna in my face.

I turn back to the sight in front of me and feel a sense of awe. Everything seems to be made of metal, with thick walls and another door separating us from the outside world. We walk through it and begin descending a long flight of dimly lit metal stairs. It feels like we go down forever, our feet echoing hollowly, and I begin to feel the weight of earth around us. A memory comes to mind from a textbook I read years ago, of bombs that could blow enormous holes in the ground and radiate the area around them. This shelter must have been designed to protect against weapons like that. I wonder how far down it goes?

At some point, George begins helping Christina on her injured side while Uriah carries her crutch. She's been walking much better today, but there are still limits to her endurance, and these endless stairs seem to cross that line. Briefly, I realize we'll have to climb back up all these when we leave. At least my years in Abnegation made me good at handling stairs.

Amar finally opens a door to the side and ushers us through it into a wide, deep room with a very low ceiling – it's less than seven feet tall, judging by how close Tobias' head is when he stands at his full height. Metal tables and chairs are spaced close together throughout the room, blending in with the metal walls and ceiling and floor, reflecting oddly in a way that makes the room seem both larger and smaller. A handful of people are seated at the tables, playing a card game. Their clothing is a mix of colors and patterns I've never seen before. These aren't faction clothes.

George waves at the seated people, and a few of them wave back, looking at the rest of us with interest.

"This is the cafeteria and meeting room," Amar explains. "You'll be here a lot during the next few days, before we head out." He gestures to the others and adds, "Depending on what you end up doing, you may be working with some of these lovely people, but I'm not going to introduce everyone at once. I'll just start with my favorite."

He winks and gestures to a young woman with medium brown skin and long black hair that's braided down her back. She doesn't look much older than I am. "That's Pari. She was born in the capital and found her way here four years ago. She'll be one of our guides for the mission."

Pari raises a hand in greeting, but before she can say anything, George chimes in. "Christina, Cara, and Uriah, you might as well wait here while we test the others."

Beside me, Tobias twitches, and his voice is tight as he says, "I thought you didn't need to test the Divergent."

Amar places a hand on his arm casually. Tobias flinches but doesn't pull away, tolerating Amar's touch the same way he does Zeke's. They must have been good friends before Amar's fake death.

"Relax, Four," he says with a little smile. "It's a different test for you two," and his eyes include me in the statement. "I guarantee there's no risk." Tobias looks at him skeptically for another moment but must accept the answer, because he nods and looks away.

And then we're heading toward a door on the other side of the room that I didn't notice before. It's the same metal as everything else in here, so it blends into the wall.

We walk down a narrow hallway with the same low ceiling, and I can almost feel the tension radiating from Tobias. _Right, claustrophobia._ But he keeps walking steadily, giving no sign of what I know to be one of his strongest fears, other than the rigidity of his limbs.

Amar and George give us a brief tour of the area we cover, but I notice they're careful with the information they provide. If I were a spy for the government they're trying to take down, I wouldn't have anything useful to say afterwards, and I suppose that's the point, particularly given how Caleb and Peter look intently at everything they see.

After a half dozen rooms, George opens a door to the left, and I see a waiting area where a number of people in faction clothing sit. I only catch a brief glimpse – too short to tell if there's anyone I recognize there, before George takes Caleb and Peter with him and shuts the door behind them. It seems strange that they're going somewhere different from us, but I'm too relieved to be rid of them to bother questioning it.

Amar seems to read my mind, though, and he comments, "They need basic testing, and you two don't."

"Can you arrange for them to fail?" I ask, and Amar gives me a smile.

"Yet you rescued them?" he says curiously.

I sigh, not quite sure how to answer that. "It's complicated," I finally respond. "Caleb is still my brother, and Peter helped us rescue him. But that doesn't mean I like either of them, and I certainly don't trust them."

Amar makes a non-committal sound, his eyes turning to Tobias.

"They're cowardly pond-scum," Tobias comments, backing me up, and Amar smiles again.

"Well, maybe they'll fail on their own, and it won't be an issue," he says lightly. But there's something else in his eyes, something that tells me he doesn't believe that will happen. I don't know why.

A few minutes later, we enter another waiting area. This one only has two people in it, but I recognize one of them: Robert, my friend from Abnegation for years, Susan's brother. It never occurred to me that he might be Divergent, but he transferred to Amity at the same time I left for Dauntless, and apparently that's why.

His eyes catch mine, and he rises, smiling at me. "Beatrice," he says softly. "I thought you'd be here." He moves as if to hug me, like he did the last time I saw him, way back when Tobias took us on a field trip to the fence during Dauntless training. But I step back awkwardly. Tobias is already tense from the low ceiling and small rooms. I don't want him to see me hugging someone else.

"Hi, Robert," I answer levelly. "I can't say I expected to see you." He stops in mid-step, obviously realizing I don't want to be touched, and I'm impressed once again with how good the Amity are at recognizing other people's signals. There's something to be said for kindness, even if it's not one of my strengths.

I turn to Tobias and ask, "Did you two meet in Amity? I forget."

Tobias addresses Robert stiffly. "No, but I remember seeing you at the fence during initiate training. I'm Four." I shouldn't be surprised he remembers that moment. At the time, I had no idea how he felt about me, but since then I've come to realize that he was watching me closely even then. The thought makes me smile a little.

Robert turns to the other person who's waiting and says, "This is Lisa. She grew up in Erudite and switched to Candor."

Lisa looks to be in her early twenties, tall with very blond hair and a complexion that looks almost tan despite the time of year. Pretty. She looks at us with the appraising look the Candor use so often, but her voice is gentler than I've come to expect from them as she says, "Nice to meet you."

For the next few minutes, we make awkward small talk. Lisa is called in for her test first, and then Robert. They come back to the waiting room when they're done, so apparently there's no second exit, and a man emerges with Robert when he finishes. He nods a greeting to Amar, his eyes passing over us with mild interest, and then he escorts Robert and Lisa into the hallway.

A short time later, a woman looks out from the testing room and gestures to Tobias. He gives my hand a squeeze and walks away, his face set in an expressionless mask.

Amar and I sit in silence for a few minutes, and then he says quietly, "I always wondered what kind of person could break through Four's shell."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh? And what kind of person am I?"

Amar cocks his head, smiling slightly. "Marcus says you're probably the most Divergent person in the city. Which would make you extremely strong-willed and self-aware, despite your age and size." He's watching me, as if curious if I'll be offended by that statement. Then, he continues, "And that makes sense. I can't imagine Four with someone weak, or someone who couldn't stand up to him."

For a second, I don't know how to respond. The words seem true, but I can't reconcile them with the source. Finally, I ask, " _Marcus_ said that?"

Amar shrugs. "He's an ass, but he's not wrong about everything. He's quite the expert on Divergence."

I don't know whether to laugh or be angry at Amar's attitude. Most people fall for Marcus' innocent act, so I can't blame them for working with him. It's harder to justify when you know what a monster he truly is, and Amar clearly does if he was Tobias' initiation instructor. But then I think of how I helped Marcus release Amanda Ritter's video, and I realize I can't condemn Amar for listening to Marcus despite what he's done.

I look away, muttering, "Yeah, I know. It's just hard to imagine him saying that, since he usually acts like I'm worthless."

Amar laughs mirthlessly. "He's done that to Four his entire life, but you should hear him talk now about how his son is the best person in the world for this mission." He shrugs again. "I wouldn't spend too much time trying to figure him out. I doubt it's possible."

We sit in silence for another minute, and then Amar says, "Four clearly cares a great deal about you. Is it mutual?"

I can't imagine a less comfortable subject than describing my feelings to someone I barely know, and I have to resist the urge to snap that it's none of his business. But something tells me that it's better if he knows.

"Yes," I answer simply, feeling heat rising in my cheeks.

He gives me an appraising look, something of sadness in his eyes. "I kind of figured," he says after a bit. He hesitates, and I think he's fighting with himself, before he blurts out, "You know this mission is crazy dangerous, right?"

I stare at him, not sure what to say. Of course I know it's dangerous. It's not like Anna tried to hide that, nor did Amanda Ritter in the video. I don't know why Amar feels the need to add to that.

"Yes," I finally say firmly. "But it's necessary, isn't it?"

He doesn't hesitate. His answer is emphatic as he says, "Absolutely. We wouldn't attempt it if there were any real choice."

"Do you need us – Tobias and me?"

His eyes close for a moment, and he sighs. "Yes," he says almost gently. "Desperately." He opens his eyes again, looking directly into mine and adds, "I wish we didn't. I wish we could use someone else."

After another moment, he recovers his composure a bit and says, "For what it's worth, we will do everything possible to protect you both. I promise you that." He manages a small smile and adds, "And not just because Four is my friend, but because getting you there is the whole point of the mission. So, I suppose in that sense, you're in less danger than the rest of us."

"You're coming, too?" I ask, and he nods.

"Yeah, I'm one of the most resistant 'oldies,'" he says with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Each generation in the city has gotten stronger, so most of the group will be close to your age, but the rest of us who _can_ go, will."

I nod, wondering who else will be in that group, but at that moment Tobias emerges from the other room. He looks more relaxed than he did going in, so the test must not be bad. I feel a slight twinge, knowing Amar is probably right and that Tobias just tested well. But it's not like I had any doubt he would.

The woman pops her head out again and gestures to me with a friendly smile. "Your turn," she says.

As I walk past Tobias, he pauses to take my arm. I can tell he's highly aware of Amar's presence, but despite that, he gives me a light kiss. "You'll find it easy," he says softly, and then he moves to sit by his friend as I enter the room beyond.

It reminds me of a simulation room, with a bank of computers and sensors surrounding a reclining chair. A straight-backed metal chair sits to the side, where the tester will likely sit, and there's a door on the other wall with a large, dark window next to it. I stare at the window, an odd prickling on the back of my neck, and suddenly I know without a doubt that there are people on the other side of it. It makes me feel like I'm on display.

"My name is Dianna," the woman says in the same cheery tone as before. "And you are?"

I suspect she already knows, but it doesn't seem worth an argument, so I introduce myself. "Tris. Beatrice Prior, that is."

"Prior, huh?" Her eyes light up as she looks at me, showing genuine surprise. It's comforting to think that not everyone here knows me already.

"Well, this should be interesting, then," she comments.

She gestures to the reclining chair and continues, "Have a seat." I hesitate, but Tobias' words relax me, and I sit down. Dianna begins connecting electrodes to me as she talks.

"This equipment is similar to what the NUSA government uses to brainwash its population. They connect someone to what they call the 'Control Computer,' and that person transmits a message to the computer. The computer then broadcasts the message through transmitters that are located throughout the country, and everyone receives it through a receiver that's implanted in them shortly after birth."

She looks at me to make sure I understand before she continues. "With our equipment here, we use direct wires and electrodes instead of injecting receivers, but it's otherwise similar. These wires will connect you to that computer, and your goal is to relay a message to it. The computer will then pass that message on to some people on the other side of that wall." She gestures to the dark window, and I feel relief that she isn't trying to hide their presence.

"Basically," she adds, "you're trying to communicate a specific message to them without being able to see them or talk to them directly. If they get your message, it will mean you worked the computer correctly, and that in turn means you can potentially work NUSA's Control Computer. Does that make sense?"

I nod and ask, "But how do I send a message to the computer?"

She smiles kindly, an almost maternal smile. "Form the image in your mind as clearly as you can. Pictures and feelings work better than words, so try to use those. And then imagine pushing the message to the computer. I can't describe it better than that, but if you can do it, you'll find that makes sense when you try."

I smile. "Actually, it sounds like something we were talking about the other day. Was Uriah good at this?"

Dianna smiles too. "Yes, he was. Not as good as your friend, Four, but definitely much better than average. And they both seemed to find it fun. Maybe you will too. Ready to give it a try?"

I nod, curious now if I can work a computer without a serum or transmitter – just with wires and my thoughts.

"Okay, then, let's start with a simple message. Form a picture of a food of some kind and try to project it to the computer."

I should start simple, but I've never been good at following basic directions. What comes to mind is Dauntless cake, and I imagine it on Uriah's plate as it looked the last time I saw some. Rich and chocolaty, crumbling on the plate, a huge slice that Uriah reluctantly agreed to share. I picture every detail, imagining the taste in my mouth, and it's as if I hand that image to the computer. I don't think I could explain it any better than Dianna did, but somehow I know how to do it.

There's a buzz, and Dianna goes into the other room. When she emerges again a minute later, her expression is hard to read. If I were to take a guess, I'd said it was awe, but that seems unlikely over a piece of cake.

She clears her throat. "Well, clearly you have some aptitude for this. I think we may as well skip to something harder – a concept. See if you can tell the people in that room that there's a serum in their water and that they've been manipulated their whole lives. Fill in the details however you want, and we'll see how much they get."

"Okay," I say. I think of what Anna told us at the meeting, and I try to form that into an image, but something else keeps intruding. Cara's words, about how the rebels have been putting serum in the city's water. How they've been manipulating us through the factions all these years. And suddenly I'm angry at their hypocrisy. The picture forms clearly in my mind, and I project it with all the strength I can muster.

Dianna is gone much longer this time. When the door opens again, Anna walks through it, her expression serious and thoughtful.

"That's enough testing," she says quietly. "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

I nod, my eyes holding hers. "That's a good idea."

Dianna crosses the room, looking at me nervously – and almost reverently. She removes the electrodes carefully, her hands shaking a little. When she's done, Anna offers me her hand, and I let her pull me out of the chair.

Amar looks up in surprise as we enter the waiting room together, but a hint of a smile plays on Tobias' face, and I suspect he saw something like this coming.

"Let's go to my office," Anna says calmly. "All four of us. We have a lot to discuss."


	14. Chapter 14: Tobias – Discussion

**Chapter 14: Tobias – Discussion**

Anna's office is as small as everything else in this place, with the ceiling I can barely stand under and the walls far too tight around me. I try to keep my eyes focused only on furniture and people, to distract from the claustrophobia, but it still feels like I'm in a coffin buried deep underground.

There are only three chairs in the room, and Amar gestures us toward them before taking up a spot along the wall and leaning comfortably into it. Amar has always had a way of looking at ease wherever he is.

For a long moment, we sit and look at each other, Anna behind the desk and me and Tris facing her. I'm reminded uncomfortably of being across from Jeanine in a small Abnegation office a thousand years ago, except that Anna doesn't look hostile. Her expression is much harder to read than that.

Finally, she laces her hands on the desk in front of her and says, "We've been waiting sixty years for someone to do that."

"You've contained your enthusiasm well," Tris states flatly, and I barely bite back my laugh in time.

Anna smiles a little, but ruefully. "It's a bit…complicated. Our odds of succeeding are suddenly much higher than we could have hoped, and I'm truly glad of that. But at the same time, if I could have picked anyone in the city for this task, it certainly wouldn't have been my granddaughter or Marcus' son."

I do laugh now. "Are you trying to claim you're all worried about us? Because I don't think you even met Tris until a few days ago, and Marcus has never cared about me in his life."

She's silent for a moment. There seems to be genuine sadness in her voice when she answers. "Very well, we'll start there." Her eyes turn to Tris. "There's a reason I never had the chance to know you….

"I had a son who was three years older than your mother. He was Divergent too, before any of us realized how dangerous that was. He chose to remain in Dauntless to be with us, but he never made it through initiation. They claimed it was suicide, as they've claimed about so many others…. My husband wouldn't let it go. He kept pushing and pushing for the truth, and then he turned up dead too."

She pauses, pushing back from the desk and running her hands up her arms as if seeking a comforting touch. "That's when I decided to go into leadership. I thought perhaps I could find out what really happened and hold someone accountable, or at least protect others. Especially my daughter.

"Erudite was experimenting with the aptitude test at the time, and I was able to get an advance copy of it. I used it to pre-test Natalie, and when her results were obviously Divergent, I erased them and let her retry until she could pick any faction she wanted. It left a suspicious trail, though, and I knew she'd never be safe in Dauntless, so I told her to pick any other faction and make sure her test showed it as her aptitude. She chose Abnegation, and then I had to play the role of abandoned Dauntless leader, and she had to act like she had turned her back on me completely. Faction before blood, after all...

"So, no, I never got to meet you or Caleb until now, or your father at all, and I barely saw Natalie after that. It was a steep price to pay, but at least she lived that extra time. She got to raise her children – and she didn't have to see them die like I did. I'd make the same choice again."

For a moment, it's so quiet I can hear the catch in Anna's throat as she breathes and can hear Tris swallowing hard. Finally, Tris asks, "Did she think you were dead? Like everyone else did?"

"No," Anna says emphatically, an expression of revulsion on her face. "I would _never_ have done that to her." But then her eyes flick to Amar, and I suspect she feels her words were too strong. She clears her throat and continues, "I suppose I had an advantage over the others in that regard. After a certain age, you're forced to leave Dauntless anyway, and no one looks closely at where you go. When I left the city, everyone just assumed I had joined the factionless. And that in turn allowed me to sneak back in easily whenever we needed."

Tris nods, clearly believing the explanation. I do too, for that matter. There would be no benefit to faking your death when it's so easy not to. It makes me wonder again why my mother really faked hers. She's given multiple explanations, but none of them ring true.

The silence stretches on, and I look back at Anna to find that she's looking at me, her mouth set in an unpleasant line. She sounds wary as she says, "I won't claim to know the extent of the bad feelings between you and Marcus. I've heard bits in the last year, between Jeanine's articles and what came out of Candor, but I've heard too many false rumors in my life to trust third-hand information. What I primarily know of you both is from my interaction with Marcus as a fellow leader – inside the city and here." She pauses and then adds, "For what it's worth, I've always heard him speak of you proudly."

The statement floors me. I know Marcus puts on a good act as a caring father; it's how he convinces everyone that I'm the liar and he's the innocent victim. But I've always seen him do it by presenting me as damaged, as someone with deep problems who needs extra guidance and patience. I can't even imagine him acting proud of me.

The silence stretches, but I have no words to respond, and Anna seems to be waiting. After a long time, Amar answers for me. "I'm going to go with Four on this one, speaking as the person who ran his simulations." He and Anna stare at each other, and her mouth turns down in a sour expression as she finally nods in agreement. My stomach twists at the reminder that Amar knows my deepest fears, but I try to tell myself it's better if Anna knows the truth. Someone in her position shouldn't trust Marcus.

We sit in awkward silence for another moment, and then Tris clears her throat and asks, "What exactly do you need us to do?"

Anna seems glad of the question. "What I told you at the group meeting is true," she begins, "but not complete. You're right that this group has been adding Suggestibility Serum to the city's water since the beginning. There were two goals in doing that. The first was to develop a large population of people who are resistant to the serum, in order to have an army who can fight if needed. The second was to come up with someone who can manipulate the Control Computer at a whole new level.

"You see, the NUSA government relies on repetition to get their message across. They transmit the same type of information every day, and they reinforce it through schools, through televised broadcasts, through interviews with people in government, and through thousands of subtle messages that everyone is exposed to all the time.

"It's not easy to counter that. Even if we managed to take over the government, the people would revolt against us, because they're brainwashed to think their current government is perfect. We'd have to send a new message to them every day for years, or even decades, before we could get them to think differently, and obviously we'd never get the chance to do that.

"No, what we need is to send such a strong message that it changes what people think in one fell swoop. That's something no one has ever been able to do before, so the government doesn't have good defenses against it. But it's something my mother and the others who founded the city thought about a lot.

"They recognized that we all listen to some people more than to others – to natural leaders and people with a very strong will. And the serum enhances those pathways through the brain, making us listen to those people even more. They also realized that some people can work the Control Computer better than others; it took some time for them to figure out what traits affected that, but once they got the hang of it, they knew it was theoretically possible to…breed…someone who was extraordinarily persuasive and who could work the Control Computer particularly well. They built the city around developing that combination. It took four generations, but here you are right when we need you most."

She stops, and it's clear from her expression that she doesn't expect us to react well. But I'm not particularly shocked. It was always obvious to me that the faction system limited our choices, including the choice of who to marry, and it's not like I've ever thought highly of people in general. Hearing that we were in a breeding program doesn't change much for me.

Tris, on the other hand, looks considerably angrier. "You manipulated everything about our lives for _generations,_ so tell me – just how are you any different from the people you're trying to stop?"

Anna sighs. "I understand your anger. I felt the same way when the rebels first recruited me. Keep in mind that I'd been in the city my entire life – which was a lot longer than yours so far – and it was all I knew, so of course I was furious at the deception. But I've seen what life is like out there, and there's a big difference.

"They have _millions_ of people living in virtual slavery, deprived of basic choices and unable even to think freely. They live in poverty, serving the few thousand people who run everything. And there's almost no escape. As best we can tell, about three percent of the population is naturally resistant to the serum, but the vast majority of them are killed before they can make their way to one of our camps. We get a handful of people a year, and the rest die."

For a moment, she closes her eyes. "When you see the reality out there, you'll understand. It is far worse than the lies in Chicago – far worse. And we have just one more chance to stop it…"

"One… _more?_ " I ask. "So, you have tried before?"

This time, Amar answers. "Of course. They didn't just sit around waiting for sixty years." He grins. "They worked with the other rebel groups to try anything and everything they could come up with, but with no success. So, now we're down to the last try. Personally, I find it kind of fitting that it's the one our founders planned all along."

I mull that for a moment and then ask, "Is the plan to get us to the government's Control Computer or to try to hack into the connection they use and broadcast a message from somewhere else?"

Amar answers again. "We'll have to get to their computer. We've tried the hacking route ad nauseam, with a stunning lack of success. The government is just too alert to that risk."

I nod. "Do you know where the computer is?"

"Not with a hundred percent certainty," Anna says. "But we have information we feel is reliable that should get us close. We'll have to find it from there."

"Roughly where is it?" Tris asks.

Anna responds, "Over seven hundred miles away, in a huge city called Philadelphia. I'm not going to kid you – it will be a long, dangerous trip, and it will get more dangerous the closer we get. Particularly since the government will be expecting us to do something as they close in on Chicago."

Amar chips in, "But we don't think they're expecting this particular attack. It's too different from what we've done before. Plus, they've never seen anyone like you." He smiles. "And I doubt they've imagined the idea you could exist. Our thought is to use multiple groups to attack simultaneously in ways they expect, and then try to sneak you safely in between those."

I find myself nodding in agreement. It's a reasonable plan, or at least the start of one, and I'm tempted to say that. But then I remember agreeing to work with the factionless without talking to Tris privately first. She had legitimate objections, if I'd taken the time to listen….

"Okay," I state, "but right now, it's late, and I'm hungry. Give us some time to discuss it, and we'll talk more tomorrow."

"Of course," Anna answers immediately. "But please don't mention any details to the others. Very few people know just what we're planning, and the mission will be far safer if we can keep it that way."

"Can we talk with our friends?" Tris asks tightly. She doesn't like being told to keep secrets.

"The ones who are going with you will need some details," Anna answers. "But keep in mind that they're not as resistant as you are. If they know too much and they're captured…."

I don't let her finish the sentence. We all know where that thought leads. "Fair enough," I say firmly. "We'll exercise discretion."

"Good," Anna says. "Now, let's get you some food." Smiling a little, she adds, "I'm afraid we don't have hamburgers or Dauntless cake, but we can find something."

* * *

There's no one left in the cafeteria by the time we get there, so we sit together at a table and eat canned food. It's unappealing, but by now I'm starving, so I wolf it down anyway. This room seems to be the largest in the bomb shelter, but it still feels stifling. I can't let go of the feeling that the ceiling will collapse on us at any moment.

Amar keeps watching me, and I know he realizes how much the tight space bothers me. I hate having people know my fears, but I try to remind myself that I know Tris' and Christina's and Uriah's the same way Amar knows mine. It's the nature of being a Dauntless instructor.

After we finish eating, Amar walks us down a hallway. He places a hand on my shoulder and says quietly, "All the rooms are small, but you can pick between the dorm and a private room. The dorm is bigger but filled with bunk beds, so there's not much visible space there."

For a second, I close my eyes, trying to will away the sense of everything pressing into me. My honest choice would be to get out of this bomb shelter entirely, as fast as possible, but that's not an option. And if I have to choose between being crammed in a room with other people – possibly Peter and Caleb among them – or being alone with Tris, that's an easy choice.

"We'll take the private room," I say. Amar nods and leads us further up the hallway.

I almost regret the decision when we walk into the room. It essentially consists of a bed, with inches of walking room around it in a space that's probably only five feet by seven. I try not to shiver.

It's all I can do to kick my shoes off and sit on the end of the bed. I face toward the longest direction, trying to fool myself into thinking the room is bigger than it is, but of course it doesn't work.

Tris climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of me, and takes my hand in hers. "You're not going to get any sleep at all, are you?" she asks.

"I don't see how." I can hear the tension in my voice.

She thinks about that and then speaks in the teasing voice she uses sometimes. "It sure seems like it should be easier to avoid your fears than this, given how few of them you have."

A strangled laugh comes out of me. "It has been quite the day, hasn't it? Climbing between buildings and talking about Marcus while planning a mission that endangers you…while trapped inside a tiny space…. I actually tried to wake myself up earlier, in case this was really all a simulation."

She smiles. "Didn't work, huh?"

I gesture at the walls with my free hand. "Apparently, I've moved into my fear landscape." But my eyes focus on her, and I add, "At least you're here. So, how bad can it be?"

"Well," she says softly, "if we really were in your fear landscape, I'd tell you to breathe with me." She takes the hand she's holding and presses it over her heart, adding, "and to feel my heartbeat." Her pulse travels through my palm, and my own matches it. I remember back to the day I showed her my fear landscape, before it changed – before she was in it. I try to push away other thoughts and focus on that day, on how it felt to wrap my arms around her and hold her close in such a forbidden way.

"That was the first time I realized you liked me," I say, running a strand of her hair between my fingers and looking into those eyes I love so much. "When your heart was racing and you said it had nothing to do with the box." The beginning of a smile tugs at my mouth.

"Yes, well, I think I enjoyed that moment a lot more than you did," she says with a little laugh.

"I was terrified," I admit, "and not just because of the box. But part of me definitely enjoyed it too." My fingers caress her cheek and begin tracing her jawline gently, trailing down her neck. "That's the only time I ever overcame that obstacle by feeling happy." I remember the joy I felt when I knew she was lying about why her heart was racing, when I suddenly felt certain that she liked me. As it did that day, the feeling makes the walls start to draw apart.

I lean forward and kiss her slowly. "This is what I really wanted to do then," I murmur, my lips still on hers. "Actually, for a long time before that."

"I would have been fine with that," she says a bit breathlessly.

"Really? So, when I stood behind you on the Ferris wheel, it would have been okay to do this?" And I kiss the corner of her jaw, and along her ear, and down her neck. She sighs with pleasure.

My fingers slide down her spine and splay across her lower back as I kiss her again, pressing her gently back onto the bed. "And in the training room, when I told you to keep tension here, I could have done this?" I slip my other hand under her shirt, pressing it to her bare stomach. Her breath catches.

I've almost forgotten the walls now. "Because I liked you for a _very_ long time, you know," I whisper as I pull her shirt up and work it off her, my lips finding each of the birds tattooed on her collarbone. I don't know how she always manages to smell so incredible.

Her voice is husky as she says, "I liked you for a long time, too. From the beginning, really. I just…assumed you wouldn't be interested."

The words bother me, as it always bothers me when she doubts herself. I pull back enough to look into her eyes again and say, "I wish you could see yourself more accurately. If you saw through my eyes, you'd know how amazing you are." I kiss her on the forehead and the tip of her nose and her lips. "Smart, and brave, and gorgeous, and…perfect."

She laughs. "You're the only one who sees me that way."

"I most definitely am not. I've seen the way other people look at you…." I almost start naming them, but then I realize that most of them are dead, and it seems better not to go there. Instead, I add, "But I love that you only look back at _me_ that way." Her smile deepens.

I press my lips to her neck again and then move them slowly down her body as my fingers wander where they will. "You know, there's a reason I stare at you so much." I kiss right between her breasts. "And why I've never been able to keep my hands off you." My palms shape themselves to her hips. "And I guarantee you that no one else makes me feel this way." My breathing is harder now and I'm not even aware of the walls anymore. I'm thinking about last night and how it felt to be with Tris like that.

"Well, that's good," she murmurs. "Because you're the _only_ one I want this way."

My fingers find the button on her pants at the same time her hands slide under my shirt, and then we're undressing each other slowly, savoring every movement of skin against skin. I wonder how it will compare with the last time, filled with closeness and indescribable new sensations but also with some pain and awkwardness. But as it turns out, it's not very much like that.

It's far better.


	15. Chapter 15: Tris – New Perspective

 

**Chapter 15: Tris – New Perspective**

When I wake up, I'm cocooned between Tobias' body and arm. He feels warm and good, and it would be easy to stay here all day. I prop myself up just enough to see his face, watching him sleep. He looks deeply relaxed – younger and far less stern than he seems when he's awake. I don't know if it's his strength or the weight of his worries that makes him look older during the day.

His breathing is even, his muscles expanding and contracting where I'm pressed against his chest. I wasn't sure he'd be able to fall asleep in this place, with his claustrophobia, but he finally relaxed after, well, _that_. The thought makes me smile, though part of me still feels nervous being this close to him, like we're breaking some kind of rule and will get in trouble for it. I guess it's my Abnegation instincts, but it's kind of funny that after all the real trouble I've been in lately, _this_ should still worry me.

He moves a little, beginning to wake up, and I freeze, trying to encourage him to sleep longer. I know we have plenty to do today, but he'll face it better if he's well-rested. He must have slept himself out, though, because he shifts again and opens his eyes. For a second, they dart around uncertainly, and then they settle on me, and he smiles. His eyes are deep blue, almost black in the low light, and I think of the first time I looked into them. I smile too.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice low. He tightens his arm around me as he leans over and brushes his lips along mine.

"Same to you," I mutter. I'm beginning to really wake up now, and I yawn as I stretch the entire length of my body, short as it is. When I open my eyes again, Tobias is staring at me, watching my stretched body with a look I might not have liked a few weeks ago. But now…it's nice to know I affect him that way, though perhaps not first thing in the morning.

I clear my throat hastily and ask, "So, what do you suppose we need to do today?"

He grins. "I'm pretty sure whatever it is can wait." He leans over me again, but I laugh and push him back onto his side of the bed. It's much too early for _that._

"Aren't we supposed to be preparing for our big, dangerous mission?" I say. "The latest one, that is."

He looks at me longingly for another moment and then sighs. "Yeah, there's that." He props the pillows against the wall and sits up, and I do too, though I pull the sheet with me. It feels too revealing to sit without it.

"I guess the biggest question is, do you think they're telling us the truth?" I ask.

He purses his lips thoughtfully. "They definitely believe what they're saying, and it's consistent with the video, and with what Cara suspected, and with how Jeanine manipulated the city…. So, yeah, it seems likely." He gives a half smile and adds, "But I've been wrong before, so to me the real question is, what do you think?"

I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "My instincts say to trust them, and I usually go with my instincts. But what I keep wondering is…how much do they actually know? I mean, they both lived in the city most of their lives, and they haven't been here all that long. Someone else must have been running this place before that, and maybe still is – and we don't know anything about whoever that is."

Tobias nods. "There are also the other rebel groups they mentioned. We know nothing about them, except that they currently have a common goal. If we can pull this off, there's no way of knowing what they'll do afterwards."

I bite my lip as I think about that. It's a huge unknown. Finally, I ask, "So, what do we do?"

"I think…" he responds slowly, "that we're not going to know everything in advance, no matter how many questions we ask. We're going to have to figure things out as we go, and that means we need to be smarter this time than we have been." I look at him questioningly, and he sits forward, picking his words carefully as he continues.

"When we planned the attack on Erudite, the best minds among the Dauntless and factionless spent a week figuring it out. And it worked. But we lost so many people…and the reality is that we ended up in Jeanine's lab at the same time you did." His eyes turn to me again. "How long did it take you to come up with your plan?"

I stiffen, not sure I like where he's going with this. My voice is hesitant when I say, "We formed a rough plan the night before and finalized it when we got there."

He nods. "So, you had much less time than we did, and fewer people, and certainly fewer guns. But you succeeded, and you only lost one person while our toll was hundreds." He rubs a hand along the back of his neck. "My point is that if we had worked together from the beginning, we could have used your idea and sent a special task force after Jeanine. Maybe we could have stopped her without so many deaths. We have to be smart enough to do that kind of thing this time."

He falls silent, and I know I should reply, but my voice seems to have disappeared. I thought I was doing the right thing when I turned myself in to Jeanine. And it probably did save lives, but not nearly as many as died in the invasion. I never thought to compare those numbers before, but now I can't help it. Would Lynn still be alive if I had stayed at Dauntless and helped plan the attack? If Tobias and I had worked together and gotten past our bickering and focused all our attention on that goal?

I look at Tobias, unsure what to say or even think. All this time, I've been trying to use Abnegation's form of selflessness as my guide, but maybe there's more to it than that. Maybe true selflessness involves using every ability we have to help others, not just sacrificing ourselves at the first opportunity.

Tobias must know how difficult this topic is, because he touches my face gently and holds my gaze. His voice is low as he says, "We both made mistakes. I should have shared everything I was doing with you. I'm sorry I didn't. And you…need to realize that you _are_ important. I don't care how many rebels have come up with plans over the years, and I don't care how much work they've put into the current plan. I want _you_ to look at everything they've done, and what they haven't, and come up with your own ideas. Will you do that?"

I close my eyes, because I know what he's really saying. That I need to stay alive for this mission to succeed, even if that means letting other people die for me, like my parents did. And I don't know if I can let that happen again. Especially if one of those people is Tobias.

When I open my eyes, he's still watching me, waiting for an answer. I give him the only honest one I can. "I'll try."

* * *

When we walk into the cafeteria, I'm overwhelmed for a moment by how full it is. We finally spot Christina and make our way to the seats she must have saved for us, since they're the only two empty chairs in the room.

"Finally!" Christina says when she sees me. "Where have you been?"

For a moment, her Candor eyes drill into me, and I'm sure she knows what Tobias and I were up to last night. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but Tobias' face stays placid as he answers, "Special training. They kept us late and had us sleep in a different area so we wouldn't disturb you."

"Oh," Christina says in a deflated tone, and it's clear the answer is much more mundane than she expected. Apparently, she hasn't learned to read Tobias' tells yet.

I help myself to a bowl of cereal from what's available on the table. As with last night's dinner, it's unexciting, particularly since the milk has a strange powdery texture, but I eat anyway.

"Well, you missed the first aid class last night," Christina says. "It was pretty good."

Uriah nods with mock sincerity. "I was the dummy, and I must say I learned how to hold still while being bandaged very well indeed."

"Yeah, you make a great dummy," Christina says with a snort.

"None better," he proclaims proudly, and I find myself grinning too. Uriah's humor is always infectious.

Cara, on the other hand, sounds a bit huffy as she says, "It was actually a very informative session. Their doctor is excellent. They pulled her out of Erudite before the war, along with a quantity of medical supplies. So, in some ways, they're better off here than in Erudite right now."

"That's good," I mutter, feeling my smile slip away. The words remind me of Lynn dying as I held her hand.

But Christina's voice is bright as she says, "Yeah, the doc did wonders with my leg. I haven't even used my crutch today, and they think I'll be able to go with you guys after all."

"Oh," I say blankly. "Does that mean they didn't get a lot of other volunteers?"

She gives me a _look_ and says, "You don't have to sound so disappointed. I know I'm not _Divergent_ and all, but I'm still pretty useful."

I wince and say quickly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant…" but my voice trails off because I don't know how to finish that sentence. I still don't know if I want her to come with us, particularly in light of the conversation Tobias and I just had. I don't want her to die for me.

Finally, I finish lamely, "I was just wondering if we got enough volunteers to…you know…stand a chance at surviving this."

"Not as many as they'd have preferred," Cara answers. "Most of the volunteers want to defend the city, but they got enough to move ahead with our part. A lot of them aren't Divergent, but George finally admitted that everyone inside the city is more resistant than everyone outside it, so they can make do with us."

I'm about to ask when she talked with George, since the last time I saw him he was taking Caleb and Peter to be tested, and I'm curious what their results were. But before I can say anything, Amar walks to the center of the room and calls loudly over everyone's conversations, "Yo, listen up!"

The voices fall silent, and he continues. "There's still too much snow to go outside, so we'll all have to share the training room today. Those of you who are here now get to go first, and we'll trade out this afternoon." He starts toward the stairway, gesturing broadly for us to follow, and we all abandon the remainder of our breakfast to scurry after him.

We don't go down too many flights this time – not nearly as many as yesterday – but it's enough to make me wonder how big this place is. When we walk through the doorway, I feel like I get my answer.

The room we enter can only be described as Dauntless heaven. It's massive, with several fighting mats, racks of weaponry, and a glassed off area that looks like it contains shooting ranges. Even the ceiling is higher here, and I can see Tobias' step lighten the moment he walks inside.

For a long moment, we gather inside the entrance, staring around us in silence. There's a lot to take in. Finally, Christina says in an awed voice, "Where did you get all this?"

"More practically, how did you get it in here?" Cara asks.

George laughs. "We can't take credit for it. The bomb shelter was built by military forces – to be honest, I'm not sure from which side. Anyway, they intended it to be somewhere they could ride out a long-term attack, or radiation, or chemical weapons, or what have you." He gestures around and adds, "I guess they wanted to be well-armed for whenever they emerged."

Amar touches George's elbow as he steps up next to him, commenting, "They abandoned it when all the bombing caused the Great Lakes to flood. I gather it really was underwater for a while, but when the rebels diverted water to Chicago for irrigation, this area dried up a bit, and we were able to gain access. It's worked well for us."

Tori's voice emerges from the group. "Do we get to use those?" she asks as she points to the incredible array of weapons along the wall.

George gives her a smile she doesn't return. "Yes, indeed. The majority of those will be used to defend the city." He exchanges a look with Amar.

"Let's form two groups," Amar suggests. Then, in a louder voice, he gestures to the half of the group that includes Tori and says, "All of you are with George. You'll focus on fighting techniques first while the rest of you learn the weapons with me. In two hours, we'll switch." He turns back to George and adds in a softer voice, "Go through joint locks and pressure points – at least the basic ones."

"We already know how to fight," a man I don't recognize says in annoyance. "We're Dauntless."

"So was I," Amar says calmly, "and trust me, there's still plenty to learn. Give it two hours, and then you'll get your chance with the guns."

The group mutters, but the designated half follows George to the largest of the mats while Amar leads the rest of us toward the weapons. As we approach, I notice that Tobias' face is filled with a type of Dauntless joy I rarely see in him. It reminds me of how he looked during Capture the Flag, once we were away from Eric.

"You should have shown us this room first," he says to Amar. "It would have been a much easier sell."

"No kidding," Christina mutters, reaching for a small oval device hanging from a hook on the wall.

"Whoa, careful with that," Amar says quickly, stopping her hand. "The guns aren't loaded, but that's a grenade – a kind of bomb – and it's easy to set off. Let me show you how it works."

* * *

We spend the next two hours learning how to handle the various weapons, and more enjoyably, practicing with them. It turns out the shielded part of the room contains eight full-sized shooting ranges, so we each spend almost as much time shooting as waiting.

In between turns, I watch the people across the room. George is clearly working hard to win Tori over, and I smile when he eventually coaxes a laugh out of her. It makes me feel there's hope for them yet. On the other hand, it also makes me think of Caleb, and I turn to watch him shooting in the range at the other end of the gallery. It's still difficult to look at him without feeling like I'm in the execution room again, watching Jeanine step forward to kill me. I wonder if I'll ever lose that association.

Eventually, Amar gathers us back together, and we swap places with the other group. My eyes meet Tori's as we walk past each other. Her expression is serious, but she nods a greeting, and I smile a little in return. Out of everyone the war has taken away from me, Tori is one of the people I miss the most.

Amar forms us into a large circle on the mat and gives us a long, evaluating look. Then, he says, "Partner up. Former Dauntless with those from other factions. We're going to learn some techniques here, but I should start by saying our goal is for everyone to learn. We're all on the same side, so this isn't some Dauntless duel to unconsciousness." At the words, I see Tobias smile, and I do too. It's nice to know that Eric's style isn't welcome here.

We start with a few basic techniques. They're mostly for the non-Dauntless among us, but I suspect Amar also wants to see how well the rest of us learned them. At first, I help a woman I don't know, who acts like she's probably from Candor. She concentrates hard on what I show her, but her movements are clumsy as she tries to imitate them.

After a bit, Amar has us switch partners so everyone can practice on people of different sizes and body types. Since there are more Dauntless than others, I find myself facing Uriah next. It's actually a relief – I was too worried about the unknown woman's pain tolerance to really practice with her, but I'm not afraid of that with Uriah. I step forward confidently – and drop him to the floor almost immediately. He gets up quickly, brushing himself off.

"Oh, good, we're not taking it easy on each other," he says with a smile. He moves at me, but I block and bring my knee into his thigh before he can back away. He winces and pauses, clearly not sure what to do against an opponent so much smaller than he is. As he's trying to decide, I move past him fast, catching him with my elbow on the way, and then grab his arm and pull him off balance. He drops to the floor again, looking a little embarrassed this time.

To the side, I see Amar winking at Tobias. "I see you taught them well," he comments. The others probably can't tell, but I can see how Tobias stands a little straighter at the compliment. Amar's opinion is clearly important to him.

"Okay," Amar says to the group, "that's enough basics for now. Those of you who need it can practice more later," and he lifts an eyebrow at Uriah, who definitely looks embarrassed now. "In the meantime, I want to show you some joint locks."

He gestures to Tobias to join him and begins explaining to the group, "The goal of joint locks is to force your opponent to move the way you want them to. For instance, if someone punches at you, you can use the standard blocks and counter strikes, or you can do something like this." And as Tobias obediently demonstrates a punch to the head, Amar catches his hand, pulls it to him as he steps to the side, and flexes his wrist just a little. Tobias drops to the floor instantly.

"The key is to lock the joint and turn it in a direction it doesn't want to go. At that point, your opponent has exactly two choices: move where you want them to, or break something." He grins. "In my experience, they _always_ move."

He helps Tobias back to his feet and shows us the move more slowly, so we can see how he positions Tobias' hand and wrist and how he presses down to make him drop. Even done slowly, the move is clearly effective.

I struggle as we practice, but at least I'm not the only one. Even most of the older Dauntless don't seem to be familiar with these techniques. But gradually I get the hang of them, and as Amar shows us different locks, I find a few favorites. To my surprise, it also turns out to be difficult for the others to use most of the locks on me. Apparently, the height difference works to my advantage. After half an hour, I'm consistently dropping my opponents within seconds while they almost never get me. It's particularly satisfying to take Peter to his knees after the way he beat me in our first fight.

We switch again, and I find myself facing Caleb for the first time today. My hands go clammy at the sight, and I almost ask to switch again. Then, he gives me a nervous smile, and suddenly I don't want to avoid him anymore. _He's_ the one who should avoid _me_ , since he's the one who was wrong, so I don't move away. Instead, I glare fiercely at him, fixing all the anger and hatred and betrayal I feel into my expression as I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet, waiting for Amar to give us the signal to begin. Caleb's face goes pale as he watches me, and he quails when I move at him. And then he's on the floor, howling in pain as I stand over him with his wrist twisted between my hands and my foot on his spine.

I'm vaguely aware of voices around me and hands grabbing at me, but I hold my grip until Amar twists my hands free and Tobias lifts me bodily away from Caleb. He sets me down and grabs my shoulders, his face right in mine. "We're not fighting Eric-style today," he reminds me coldly. "Or ever again as far as I'm concerned. Control yourself." I twist away from him angrily, but I know he's right. My parents would tell me that cruelty is wrong, even when it doesn't feel like it. Maybe especially when it doesn't.

I take a couple of calming breaths and then mutter, "Sorry" to Tobias. He nods and moves back to his current partner. As I turn back to the others, I see Amar helping Caleb to his feet and making sure he's okay. But the locks are designed to control, not disable, and I did the movements right – even if more enthusiastically than necessary – so there's no serious damage. After a moment, Caleb pulls himself together and is able to continue. I don't meet his eyes.

Amar looks at me for a second and then addresses the group. "Okay, good lesson here…. We all get angry sometimes. If you start to lose control, go take a walk, or use the punching bags, or shoot the targets. It'll help get the adrenaline out, and you might even improve your skills while you're at it." His eyes pass over the others, resting briefly on Tobias, and I suspect that Tobias must have needed that advice at some point. It's not hard to imagine why, given his reasons for leaving Abnegation. I wonder if that's how he got so good at all those Dauntless skills.

"All right," Amar continues after another moment. "Gather back around. I'd like to show you some pressure points before we break for lunch." He glances around the group and then gestures to Peter to join him this time.

"As you saw, joint locks control the way your opponent moves. Pressure points are different. They give you a way to maximize the effect of a strike. If you hit here…" and he demonstrates a controlled punch to Peter's side – "it will hurt, but if you use exactly the same blow here…" and he repeats the strike to an area further under the arm – "it will disable him."

His eyes roam the group as he continues. "There are numerous pressure points around the body. Some of them will knock a person out, while others break bones, inflict massive pain, or knock the wind out of someone very easily. If you're not that strong, or that experienced at fighting, pressure points can give you a way of being effective despite that. So, let's go over some of them."

He demonstrates several points on the neck and arms, having us practice after each, but the technique only works if you get exactly the right spot, and that's tricky. Whenever I feel like I've mastered one, we switch partners, and I have to work to find the same spot on that person. It feels like I'll never get the hang of this. It's particularly frustrating to watch Amar hit perfectly every time, against every person.

"How long do you think it takes to get that good?" I ask Christina, who's currently partnered with me.

She looks at Amar and then at Tobias for a moment, watching their techniques, before she says, "Years, obviously. Four's a lot better at it than we are, but he's nowhere near as good as Amar." I bite my lip as I watch Tobias too. I have to admit she's right.

When Amar moves on to pressure points on the torso, I pretty much give up. It's hard enough finding the right spot when I can see it, but when it's buried under clothing, it's hopeless. But Amar must realize that, because after a few minutes of utter failure around the room, he decides on a different approach.

"Guys, shirts off," he says firmly as he removes his own shirt. The words startle me, and I can feel my face going red as my eyes have no idea where to look. I've only ever seen Tobias without a shirt.

"Come on," Amar insists. Then, looking at one of the Dauntless women, he adds, "Just the guys. You won't distract _me_ that way, but I can't imagine that being helpful to anyone else here." My gaze turns automatically to the woman in time to see her putting her shirt back on, and I can feel the blush flaming on my cheeks.

I look at Tobias, wanting to know if he saw her, but he's staring intently at me, and suddenly I remember that he doesn't like showing himself to others. But I can also tell from his expression that he's not willing to disobey a direct order from his instructor. I don't know how to help him, so I do the only thing I can think of and just watch him, letting him focus on me. Maybe if he can shut out the rest of the room and feel like he's just undressing for me, it will be easier. And he does, his face twisting in the process, but then he stands there as only I've seen him, his eyes still on me.

Christina nudges me with her elbow and whispers, "Nice," but I refuse to look away from Tobias. I feel like we're getting each other through this.

Amar's voice is clipped as he asks, "Peter, are you under the opinion that you're extra special or something? That the rules don't apply to you?" I finally shift my gaze enough to see that Peter is standing there fully clothed, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

"Forget it," Peter says coldly. "There's no way I'm stripping for you."

Amar's face is far sterner than I've ever seen it as he snaps, "You may have missed this in Dauntless, but respect is a key part of the martial arts. You're a student, and I'm your instructor. If you want the privilege of continuing in this room, or on any mission associated with this group, you will do as you're told."

For a very long time, their eyes lock, and I begin to see where Tobias learned his death glare. Finally, Peter looks away, fury written all over his face as he says, "Have it your way." He pulls his shirt off and turns unexpectedly to me, throwing it at me the way I threw my overshirt at him so long ago on the Dauntless roof. I catch it automatically and then drop it behind me, having no interest in holding something of his.

I don't look back immediately, but when Christina gives a small gasp beside me, I can't help it. My eyes turn to Peter, and I shiver at the sight of that much exposed skin – and at what's on it. His torso is covered with markings of some sort, but not in a pattern I recognize. The marks are rough and jagged, different from any tattoo I've ever seen. They're more like…scars. And as I think that, I realize that of course that's what they are.

There are several long, jagged lines that were clearly made by a knife, including a vicious one that must have gouged out flesh along with skin. Intermixed with those are more than a dozen small, round scars of a uniform size and darkness. It takes me a moment to figure out where I've seen that shape before, and a coldness goes through me when I do. It's the shape a cigarette leaves when it's snuffed out against something. It never occurred to me before, but Peter has clearly been abused – must have been for years.

My eyes find Tobias again, and for a second I think he must have stopped breathing. He stands there with his face expressionless and his entire body stiff, hiding behind the mask he's presented to the world his whole life.

No one says anything at first, but then Amar resumes talking as if nothing is unusual. "The pressure point you're aiming for is here," and he demonstrates on himself before walking to Uriah and showing the same point on him. He walks to each of the males in turn, showing us the same spot on each so we can begin to recognize it. The entire experience is acutely uncomfortable, but I have to admit it does help me find the right point. In fact, by the time he's done, I feel like it's permanently imprinted on my brain.

This time, we practice in utter silence, but for the first time, I make progress. By the time we break for lunch, I'm consistently hitting four different pressure points against partners of all sizes, regardless of whether or not they're wearing shirts. Still, it's a relief when the guys are able to put their clothing back on. I never did get myself to look at Uriah or Caleb.

As we begin leaving the room, Tobias walks up to me. His voice is strained as he says, "I'll see you up there. I'm going to shoot for a while." I remember Amar's advice earlier and realize Tobias needs this, so I nod and give him a quick kiss. He returns it brusquely before walking away.

I'm not really surprised when he heads toward Peter. "I get the machine gun first," he says simply, walking past him without pausing.

Peter looks after him for a few seconds and then shrugs. "Whatever," he mutters, but he follows.

As I turn back to Christina, I hear Amar telling her quietly, "I didn't know."

"I didn't, either," she comments. "I knew he was adopted, but he came from among the factionless, so I just assumed it was for the usual reasons." At the blank look on my face, she adds, "You know, so he could go to school and be in a faction and have a chance at a better life…. The Candor adopt a lot of factionless kids."

I feel a twinge as I think about that. It's yet another way the factions failed us, and I never even noticed, never thought about what happened to children born factionless. I try to imagine what it would be like to choose between raising my children or trying to give them a better life – one without me.

And then a worse thought occurs to me. Tobias wondered once why his mother didn't take him with her when she left Abnegation. Was that why? Did she have to choose between taking care of him as a child or giving him a future as an adult? She wouldn't even have had the choice of giving him up for adoption – she never could have gotten away with that with Marcus' son... For the first time, I begin to understand Evelyn's perspective, and I think perhaps I judged her too harshly.

"Come on," Christina says, taking my arm. "Maybe there will be something good for lunch."

Uriah laughs almost bitterly. It's an odd sound coming from him. "Yeah," he says, "like that's gonna happen." He sighs. "Sometimes, I really miss Dauntless."

But right now, I'm not so sure I do. The factions have left too many of us scarred – on the outside like Peter, or the inside like Tobias, or through fractured relationships like me and Caleb. For the first time, I think I agree with Tobias and Evelyn that we need to change things. Assuming we can save the city long enough to give it that chance.


	16. Chapter 16: Tobias – Anger

**Chapter 16: Tobias – Anger**

I can't remember the last time I felt this angry without a specific reason, as if I'm furious with the entire world. With my father and whoever scarred Peter like that and with every person who's ever inflicted that kind of violence on a child. With everyone who's stood by and kept quiet, allowing the violence to continue. With the rebels who founded our city and left us festering in a faction system that promoted silence and secrets and lies and hatred. With the NUSA government I've never even seen that drove them to do it in the first place. Even before that, with those who started the wars which led to the serum. With everyone.

I'm angry at myself too. If I'd been as good an instructor as Amar, I would have noticed the common theme in Peter's simulations. Maybe I could have helped him deal with his issues, helped him become a better person the way Amar helped me. Instead, I let him go, let him wallow in his dozens of fears because I didn't like him. And he took his fears out on Tris, attacking her because I did nothing to stop it.

I want to shred everything in sight with my bare fingers. Maybe I should use the punching bags, but there's something satisfying about those new guns – the machine gun that shoots over and over until the target has more holes than paper, and the cannon gun that blasts the entire target with a single shot. That's the kind of destruction I want to render right now.

But there's not much left on the wall, and it's obvious why. The other group is still in the shooting ranges. They haven't broken for lunch yet, and in that moment my fury extends to them too as they stand in my way. Particularly since I know who's in that group. I saw him in the cafeteria, sitting with Caleb as if he must be in charge of anyone connected to Abnegation. And he went with Tori and George, walking quietly with the others like he thought I didn't notice him.

Some distant, objective part of my brain knows I'm far too out of control to face him now, but I grab the largest gun left on the wall and head in that direction anyway. And Peter follows me. I'm not even sure why I invited him. It's not as if I want to talk to him, and I'm certainly not a role model he should be following at the moment.

But I couldn't just leave him there, not after the way he was exposed to the whole group. Amar would never have done that if he'd known, if I'd done my job well enough to know to warn him. Instead, I stood there worrying about myself, about having to expose my skin to strangers, as if that's the worst thing in the world. The self-indulgence of it makes me sick.

I march into the shooting gallery without slowing down, my eyes looking wildly for Marcus. He stands at the fifth range, over halfway across the room, waiting his turn with that false patience, the look of a good Abnegation member, and suddenly all my fury is focused on him. My fingers grip the gun so tightly it might break, and my other hand balls into a fist, ready to strike. I'm halfway there when Lauren blocks my way, pushing a hand against my chest as she moves in front of me. Her eyes are wide with concern. It's no wonder. I'm sure I look like a maniac.

"What's wrong?" she asks, trying to catch my attention, and suddenly I'm reminded of how she kept me with the initiates after Tris stormed away from the fear landscape so long ago. She wanted to calm me down so I wouldn't hurt anyone – so I wouldn't hurt Tris. I didn't look like this then, did I? The thought reaches me through the anger, and I stop. I pull my eyes away from Marcus and force myself to look at Lauren, breathing deeply.

"I just want to shoot," I say desperately. She nods and steps toward a Dauntless man who's currently firing. She taps him on the shoulder and then pulls him away, gesturing me forward to take his place.

I'm vaguely aware of the silence growing around me, and I know people are turning to look, but I ignore them. I reach for ammunition, only to realize there's none here for the gun I'm holding, so I stand there breathing harshly, trying to calm down.

Someone reaches for the gun in my hand, offering me another in its place, and I hear Tori's voice saying, "Here. This one is loaded." I look down, meeting her eyes for the first time since she had me beaten in the Erudite dormitory. There's understanding in them. She knows what it's like to feel this angry, and in this moment, there's no judgment or enmity between us.

"Thanks," I say simply. And then I take the gun and turn toward the target. The Dauntless man claps the ear protectors on my head, and I finally begin firing, feeling calmness spread through me gradually as I loose shot after shot at the target.

When I finish, the room is empty except for me and Peter. He's practicing with the machine gun, and I actually smile at the sight. I'm sure he only picked it because I claimed first dibs earlier. He didn't really seem interested in it before.

He stops after another moment, looking at me with that expression I can only describe as Peter. We both remove our ear protectors, and he says, "So, is it necessary to make that kind of entrance every time, or is the shooting enough to calm down?"

I stare at him for a second, and then suddenly I'm laughing. "Well, at least this way they'll be talking about us equally," I finally say.

"Yeah," he mutters, looking away uncomfortably. "I suppose there's that."

"Nevertheless," I say after another moment, "I've found that shooting does help, and punching bags, and working out in general. Amar is right about that."

Peter shrugs. "Personally, I've found that killing the bastard helps more, but I guess that's just me."

I stare at him, realizing he's serious. "When?" I ask.

He looks away. "Right after he gave me the big one," he says, gesturing over the largest knife scar on his stomach. "He passed out drunk and left me bleeding to death…and I decided not to die."

I nod. Judging by how old the scars looked, Peter was probably only eight or nine at the time. I remember how much I wanted to kill my father then, particularly after I thought my mother had died. I was sure he'd killed her, and I fantasized so much about revenge I don't even remember anything else from that age. So, no, I can't really blame Peter.

"Should we put these back?" he asks, holding up the machine gun, and I nod again.

"Yeah, we'd better clean up after ourselves." With a little smile, I add, "Since I think a couple of people might know we were the last ones here…."


	17. Chapter 17: Tris – Maps and Plans

**Chapter 17: Tris – Maps and Plans**

By the time Tobias comes upstairs for lunch, most of the others have gone – Christina for a follow-up on her leg, Uriah to practice with the mock Control Computer we used yesterday, and Cara to continue training downstairs with George. I expect Amar to go with them, but he stays, chatting comfortably with me and then with Tobias after he finally arrives.

Tobias doesn't say much. It's clear that he's calmer now, but his eyes are still full of thought, and he doesn't seem to want to talk about anything that happened downstairs. I can't blame him. After the way he was exposed at Candor, I'm sure he hated seeing Peter's secret forced into the open like that.

When we're done eating, Amar leads us back to Anna's office. She stands as we enter, smiling in greeting, and then gestures us toward the chairs. There are several maps strewn across her desk.

She gets right to the point. "I thought you'd like to see the plans, assuming you're still willing to go..." She raises an eyebrow hopefully, and I smile back at her. I guess there must be something of my mother in her mannerisms, because I always seem to want to please her.

"Yes, we're still going," I say immediately, not even trying to negotiate the point.

"However," Tobias states firmly, giving me a look, "we want input on the plans."

"Absolutely," Anna reassures him. "Nothing is set in stone here. In fact, there are a lot more unknowns than I'd like, so you're going to _have_ to come up with a chunk of it on the fly. But let's start with what we know…."

Pulling one of the maps forward, she begins, "this is the country of NUSA. It will be hard for you to grasp the scale, but this distance here is fifty miles, and this is a city that's about ten times larger than ours." I stare, staggered by the size of the country. My entire world has always consisted of one city, but you could fit thousands of those inside NUSA.

Anna continues, "This shading indicates population density – the darker the color, the more people live in that area. Our city population is about this color here," and she indicates a spot that's almost white. Then, she runs her finger down a long, dark stretch that contains a dozen labeled dots, with Philadelphia in the center. "As you can see, the population is heavily concentrated along the coast, with the capital in the middle, and it gets sparser as you move west. " Her finger moves to the northwest corner of the map, to an area that appears to be in the middle of a huge lake. "We are approximately here."

"I never noticed that we live underwater," Tobias states evenly, and I bite back a laugh.

Amar grins. "Until very recently, that's exactly what NUSA thought." His smile fades as he adds, "Unfortunately, they know better now."

Tobias nods, looking back at the map. I doubt he grasps the size of this world any better than I do. I'm used to distances I can measure with my feet, not ones that would take months to walk, if it's even possible to cross them on foot.

Amar draws his finger along a line that travels south from us and then east, stopping on a dot labeled Pittsburgh. "We expect them to gather their forces in Pittsburgh and take this route to us," he says as he retraces the lines in reverse. "It's their westernmost city, so it's the closest point for attacking us, and this is the least damaged roadway leading from there to here, so it's a pretty safe bet."

"Based on that," Anna says, "we've sent forces to bomb the road here." She places her finger east of a point called Indianapolis. "No one lives there, so it will take NUSA a while to bring in supplies to fix the road or bypass it."

"In the meantime," Amar adds, "we'll be taking this route." His finger traces a line that runs almost directly east from us. "It's a much more difficult road, because large stretches of it washed away years ago. But that means NUSA is unlikely to use it, whereas we have some experience working around that." I nod. So far, it makes sense.

"We'll take four vehicles to this point," he continues, pointing to an intersection with another line, "and then the others will split off. One will go south to Pittsburgh, one down to Morgantown, and one all the way to Hagerstown. All three of those groups will set off bombs simultaneously, targeting water treatment plants if possible, or connecting roadways if they can't get to the water plants. The idea is to make it look like we're trying to slow down the troops. That will hopefully attract attention and forces away from Philadelphia around the time we get there."

Tobias frowns. "It could also cause them to heighten their security across the board."

"That's possible," Anna admits, "but we feel it's unlikely they'll worry about the Control Computer. As far as we know, they can replace it easily, or broadcast from a backup location, and they don't know that someone with your ability exists. So, it's a pretty good bet that the attacks will distract them from you, rather than making things worse."

I look at her, frowning a little too. "It could also cause them to increase the amount of serum they add to the water," I say, "and to increase the frequency of their broadcasts. If they want tighter control over the population, that seems like the logical thing to do."

Amar nods. "The thing is, we're pretty sure they're doing that anyway, because they wouldn't want to send the bulk of their troops here without securing the populace first. And there's a maximum dose of serum they can use before their people start dying…so it's hard to see how the attacks could make that aspect worse."

Tobias and I exchange a glance. I hate arguments that start with "it's hard to see," because they're often wrong, but Amar does have a point.

Anna sits back, steepling her fingers and touching them to her lips thoughtfully. "One of the biggest variables is how much contact to make with the other rebel groups along the way. There are a few we've worked with before, and if they're still operating normally, they would definitely make things easier. But that's a big gamble."

Amar's voice is careful as he explains, "Something you need to understand is that _everybody_ in NUSA is potentially a threat, even the kids you see in the street, and even the rebels. They all have receivers implanted in them, so they receive the government's broadcasts, and they all drink water that's laced with Suggestibility Serum. So, they're all potentially dangerous, particularly if the government does increase the dose of the serum or the frequency of the broadcasts."

I'm about to say it's obvious we should avoid the other rebels when Anna adds, "But on the flip side, it's impossible to travel all the way to Philadelphia without some kind of help. If nothing else, the van will need gas, and that requires money."

"Money?" Tobias asks.

Amar scratches the back of his neck. "That's kind of a hard concept to explain. In the factions, you receive food, clothing, housing, and all that stuff because you're a member of the faction, and you work a job within that faction as part of being a member. In NUSA, people receive money in exchange for their work, and they use that money to buy food, clothing, and so on. Nothing is given to them except for water – since that's how the Suggestibility Serum is delivered. The bottom line is that we'll need money in order to travel within the country."

"If we can't trust the other rebel groups," I say, "how else can we get money?"

Amar debates that for a moment before saying, "we should definitely bring some items that we could sell. But if that's not enough, the only other choice is to steal. That attracts attention, but it may be what we have to do."

I scowl at him, not liking that option at all. It was strange enough taking supplies from Candor, let alone stealing from total strangers, not knowing if they might go hungry as a result. But that's only a small part of what's bothering me. There's a much bigger tension building in my stomach as I look at the map and the hundreds of miles we'll need to cover. We know so little about what we'll encounter, and if we can't trust anyone, even our allies…how can we possibly do this?

"Anyway," Amar says, clearing his throat, "our goal is to get here." He points to the dark area labeled Philadelphia and then reaches for another map. This one shows streets, and it's clear it's a detailed view of the city. "We'll be bringing two guides who used to live in the area. Hopefully, they can help us find local resources and a place to stay while we scout out the city."

I look up, a thought prickling at the back of my mind. "But they have receivers implanted in them, right? Won't they have the same problem as the other rebels? They could turn on us."

Anna nods solemnly. "That's one of the biggest dangers of this mission, but we do have one thing that will help. Jeanine designed a special filtration system to separate the serum from water, and with the help of some other people we pulled from Erudite over the years, we were able to come up with a portable water bottle that does the filtering without being obvious about it. The guides will each have one of those, and as long as they only drink their filtered water, they'll be relatively safe. They'll still receive the extra broadcasts, but without the serum, they should be able to withstand those."

I bite my lip as I think about that. As with everything else, it's risky, but the alternative is to go there blind, and that seems even worse.

"Okay," Tobias says, "assuming we get there, where is the Control Computer?"

"Our information is that it's in one of these two buildings," Amar answers, indicating two locations a few blocks apart. "We don't know which, so we'll have to scout them out when we get there."

Tobias quirks a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you at least know something about the security in the buildings?"

"Very little," Anna says grimly. "Just that it's relatively light. As I said earlier, the government doesn't think there's much threat to the computer system, and they may also feel it's better not to attract attention to it. After all, their approach works best when the people don't know they're being controlled."

I give Tobias a half smile. "Well, at least we have plenty of opportunity for input." He tries to smile back, but I can see the worry in his eyes. I can't blame him.

"What supplies can we bring?" I ask, trying to figure out what we'll have to work with.

"We have lots of choices here," Amar answers, "but we're limited to what we can hide in the van. The odds are high that we'll be searched at some point along the way, but there's a secret compartment in the floor, so we can bring about nine cubic feet of materials." He pauses briefly before adding, "We might be able to get some additional supplies there, depending on what you want, but we shouldn't count on it."

I nod, feeling a bit defeated by the magnitude of this entire effort.

"We should look through the available supplies today," Tobias suggests, looking at me, and I can tell he's hoping that will spark some ideas. It seems like a reasonable starting point.

"Sure," Amar says. "We can do that after dinner, when the training is done. We'll have the place to ourselves then. And…if you want, you can bring the others. I don't know how much you want to share with them, so I'll leave that up to you."

Tobias purses his lips thoughtfully, looking at me, and I shrug. "Cara helped a lot with the last plan," I tell him. "And Christina did too."

He nods. "Uriah was helpful with ours, and he's probably the most resistant of them, so I guess we might as well bring all three." Then, he turns and looks levelly at Anna. "You've been careful with pronouns. You aren't coming with us, are you?"

His comment surprises me, because now that I think about it, he's right, but I didn't notice it earlier.

Anna shakes her head slowly, her mouth tightening. "No," she admits. "It's been brought to my attention that I need to stay here and negotiate with Evelyn to prepare the city. She apparently won't work with Marcus."

I snort. "Did you honestly think she would?" I ask.

Her eyes are a bit sad as she answers, "Yes, I did. I didn't realize until yesterday the depth of her hatred, so I assumed she could set her feelings aside enough to act in the city's best interests. It seems I was wrong about that."

Tobias is still watching Anna, his eyes narrow. "I won't work with him, either, if you're wondering," he says.

She sighs, kneading the back of her neck. In that moment, something about the set of her mouth reminds me of my mother, and I feel an odd desire to make things easier on her somehow. But I don't. Tobias has the right to decide if he will or won't work with his father.

"He is Divergent," Anna says quietly, her eyes meeting Tobias'. "And he knows more about what you'll be facing than almost anyone else. Your odds of succeeding would be higher with him along." She gestures toward me without moving her gaze and adds, " _She_ is more likely to live if he goes with you."

I tense. Anna has just found the one argument that could convince Tobias, and it bothers me that she did it so easily. It must bother him too, because his mouth sets in a line, and he glares at her for another few seconds. Finally, his eyes flick to me and then to Amar.

"She's right," Amar says simply. "There's no question that he would add value to the team, but not if he'll distract you too much. You have to decide that."

Tobias looks down at his hands for a long time, and then he turns to me. His voice is quiet as he says, "It's up to you. I'm too biased to make the call."

I didn't expect that, and for a moment I'm humbled that he's trusting me with something this important to him. But I'm not sure which decision is right. I despise Marcus for what he did to Tobias, but I was able to look past that just a few days ago, when I worked with him to go after Amanda Ritter's video. We certainly couldn't have done that without him, and not just because he had knowledge he wouldn't share. He was also very focused on the mission, and he helped keep the rest of us that way too. Maybe this is another time we need him….

As I think about it, I realize there's also something else guiding me – something selfish.

I look at Tobias and say gently, "I'd rather risk his life than yours." He closes his eyes, releasing a barely audible sigh, but he nods.

Turning to Anna, I add, "He can come as long as he's not in charge."

"Don't worry about that," Amar says. " _I'm_ in charge." And for the first time, I understand why he's here with us and not in the training room, why he's been staying with us practically every waking moment since we arrived. This is his mission, and we're at the center of it. I'm not sure exactly why, but the thought makes me feel better. I don't know when I started trusting him so much.

"Good," I say, meeting his gaze. But something about his expression is off, and I think I know why. "Who else is coming?" I ask.

He answers slowly. "We had to weed out some volunteers because of low resistance, and one because of age." The corner of his mouth quirks as he says, "Some Divergent girl you saved in Candor tried to volunteer, but she was only nine." He clears his throat. "Anyway, the remaining group is about the right size, so I'd like to bring them all unless you have a major objection." By the look on his face, I know I will, but after deciding that Marcus could come…I probably can't say no to what I suspect he's about to say.

He continues, "That means your friends Uriah and Robert, and Lisa – the woman you met yesterday. And of course Cara and Christina and Marcus, as we just discussed. Our two guides – you met Pari the other night, and the other is Margot. Oh, and Lauren," and he gives Tobias a quick smile. Then, his face turns serious again as he finally says the last two. "And Caleb and Peter."

Even though I expected him to say that, the words still run through me like ice, carrying cold through every extremity of my body. _Caleb is resistant enough to go with us._

My voice is stern as I say, "Does that mean he wasn't under the serum when he betrayed us? When he helped kill Marlene, and lured me to Erudite to torture me and try to kill me? Was he acting freely then?"

Anna shakes her head. "No, it doesn't mean that at all. He's resistant, but not as much as you are, and he's not nearly as strong-willed. Like almost everyone else, he has a breaking point. With a high enough dose, he falls, and our information is that Jeanine was using some extreme doses – high enough to kill the people who live out here." She gestures into the vague distance, in what I assume is NUSA's direction.

She looks at me and adds gently, "We wouldn't be considering him if I didn't believe he's genuinely remorseful."

I stare at her for a moment, feeling a burning behind my eyes. Finally, I have to look away, blinking back the moisture. I don't want to cry here.

Tobias takes my hand, squeezing it gently. " _I_ decide this time," he says. I look up, about to protest, but he's right. For all the same reasons he let me decide with Marcus, he needs to be the one to decide on Caleb. Oddly, I feel relief at the thought. Either way, if something happens to Caleb, it won't be my fault. I nod.

"He comes with us," Tobias says to Anna. Then his voice turns deadly as he adds, "but I'll be the one to tell him." There's something satisfying about that answer….

I swallow and then look up at him again. "What about Peter? You know we can't trust him."

Tobias' eyes are thoughtful as he says, "He's helped us as often as not, but no, he's obviously not reliable."

"I don't know what to make of him," Amar admits, interrupting Tobias' thought. "But you should know that he's the most resistant person we've ever tested. We gave him more serum than we've ever used before, and it had absolutely no effect. That's the only reason I'm suggesting him."

I stare at him and then at Tobias. "Is he Divergent?" I ask. The idea never occurred to me before, but it makes a kind of sense. After all, he was never under Jeanine's simulations.

"Not that I know of," Tobias answers at the same time Amar says, "Yes." We both look at him.

He shrugs. "George was curious, so he administered another aptitude test. The results were…disturbing." At our raised eyebrows, he sighs and continues. "He manipulated the simulation right up front so he could pick up both the knife and the cheese. He fed the cheese to the dog – and then stabbed it while it was eating. When the girl came in, he said he'd killed her dog because it attacked him, and he threatened to send her to jail for releasing a vicious animal. Then, he stabbed himself in the leg to exit the simulation. The program showed him as having no aptitudes whatsoever."

"He made sure he didn't match anything," I say quietly.

Anna nods. "He wanted us to know he's Divergent, without knowing anything about his actual abilities."

"But why?" Tobias asks.

"So we'd let him go with us," I answer slowly, "without assigning him any duties."

There's another silence, and then I add, "What I can't figure out is why he wants to go."

We all look at each other, and it's clear no one has any answers. Finally, Tobias says, "I guess we'll have to ask him...."


	18. Chapter 18: Tobias – Consequences

**Chapter 18: Tobias – Consequences**

We spend the next couple of hours practicing with the mock Control Computer. It quickly becomes obvious that Tris is better at sending broadcasts than I am. I can relay information without a problem, but I'm told that my messages lack the intensity to make people believe me if they're not already inclined to. Tris, on the other hand, seems able to convince everyone of anything she chooses. I can't say that surprises me.

Once she's consistently transmitting the message correctly, Tris goes downstairs to train some more with the others, while I keep practicing. The longer we continue, the more annoyed I become, and while I succeed in transmitting that particular feeling very well, it's debatably helpful.

Finally, Anna takes a seat beside me, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "We need a different approach," she says. "You clearly have the ability to do this, but it won't work unless you convey a strong emotion with it – something that makes people see through your eyes and agree with you. And for whatever reasons, you seem reluctant to share your feelings that way."

I don't bother answering. It's hardly a shock that I hide my feelings, after growing up in a faction where emotions were considered selfish and a household where the only sentiments I saw were anger and fear.

"I'd suggest," Anna says after a moment, "that for now, you transmit whatever message or memory you want – anything strong – to whoever you're comfortable sharing it with. That should help you get the hang of it. Maybe you'd be willing to share something with Tris that way?"

My entire body goes tense, and I shake my head automatically. It's not that I haven't shared my feelings with Tris – of course I have. It's just that they're much stronger than I've ever let her see, and I'm afraid of scaring her off. She grew up in Abnegation too, after all, and she still struggles with intimacy. There's no way I'm going to blast her with emotion in order to master this machine.

"Okay," Anna says with a sigh. "Then, maybe there's someone you'd like to send a…less positive message to?"

She's obviously referring to Marcus, but that's an even worse thought. I don't want to be anywhere near him, let alone be connected mind to mind in any manner. The idea makes me shudder. But it also leads me down a different path. Maybe there is one experience I could share with someone I wouldn't mind inflicting it on….

"Caleb," I say firmly. "I have something to show him."

Anna looks hesitant, and I remember that he's her grandson, but she must value the mission more than that relationship, because she nods reluctantly. "Okay," she says. "I'll have someone get him."

* * *

Caleb is clearly nervous as they connect him to the receiving computer. "What are you going to show me?" he asks, his eyes wide as they meet mine.

I give him a hard look, debating whether or not to answer, and then I respond simply, "Consequences." After a few seconds, I add, "If you want to come with us, you'll listen and try to learn. I assume that Erudite brain of yours is capable of that?" He nods, swallowing hard.

Once he's connected, I look at the others and say sternly, "You'll need to wait outside. No one else watches this." That seems to make Caleb even more nervous, and I see the others exchanging worried looks, but Anna escorts them from the room without debate.

I reconnect myself to the sending computer and sit there for a moment, trying to compose my thoughts. But there's no real preparation for this, so I take a deep breath and fill my mind with the memory that's haunted me for the last two weeks.

I'm in my tiny cell in Erudite, the walls pressing in around me, but I don't even notice them anymore…except as an obstacle. I need to get through them, desperately need to escape. Tris' execution has been moved to this morning, and I _can't_ let that happen. There is nothing beyond that.

My fists keep pounding on the door, on the walls, on the ceiling – on anything that looks like it might give way. The mattress and sheets are mangled on the floor, but the cot is bolted in place, and no matter how much I tear at it, I can't make it move.

The panic is a wild animal inside me, ripping me apart from within. My shouts echo through the room, cries of pain and desperation. I don't even know what I yell. There has to be some way out of here. It's impossible to let this happen.

And then I see it, her hand pressed to the tiny window high up on the door. She reaches inside my heart and yanks me toward her, and instantly I'm there, staring down at her face, at the only face I love, the only person I care about in this world. _She can't die. She can't._

She looks up at me bravely, calmly, and I know she's accepted her fate. But I can't. I can't let her go. I stare at her hungrily, a thousand unsaid words fighting for release all at once. I need more time with her, need to hold her, need to kiss her, need everything. I place my hand against hers on the glass, trying to reach through it to her fingers. And then I set my forehead on the window the way I've so often pressed it to her, trying to feel that connection one more time. The last time.

My eyes close for just a moment.

When I open them, she's gone. The emptiness is beyond despair. A hole has been ripped through me, taking my soul with it. I stagger backwards, tripping on the shredded mattress and falling to the floor. I pull my knees to me and sob.

I don't know how long I stay that way. Eternity never ends.

When the door opens, I don't lunge at it, because I know what it means. They wouldn't open it if there was still time for me to help her. It must be too late, and they're coming for something else.

"What do–" I yell. Fury is the only emotion I have left.

But then I see her, limp and lifeless in Peter's arms. I can't breathe. "Oh my God." My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure it will burst, will stop like hers. "Oh–"

Peter interrupts me. "Spare me your blubbering, okay?" For a split second, the entirety of my anger focuses on him, and I begin moving toward him, fast, with no thought except how to kill him. How quickly and in what manner. But he continues, "She's not dead; she's just paralyzed."

The words shock through me, filling me with more emotion than I can process, more than I can even remotely handle. I stare at her, trying to see if he's right, and I see the very slight movement of a breath. She's alive. _Alive._

I take a weak step toward her, barely able to stand but even less able to stay away from her. I'm vaguely aware of Peter's voice saying, "It'll only last for about a minute. Now get ready to run." The words don't make sense. I tear my eyes away from Tris long enough to stare at Peter. Is he offering to help us escape?

The thought fills me with dread, because I know Peter would never do that. And that must mean I'm in a simulation, and Tris is really dead, and Jeanine is experimenting on me again. But I feel the raw edge of the pain, and my eyes take in Tris' face, her limp body, the slight twitch of movement, and I know beyond doubt that this is real. She's real. I just know.

"Let me carry her," I say hoarsely.

Peter shakes his head immediately. "No," he says firmly. "You're a better shot than I am. Take my gun. I'll carry her." I can't stand the thought of her in his arms, but in that moment, I know he's right. All that matters now is getting Tris to safety. I slide his gun from the holster, and as I feel the weight of the metal in my hand, I know I will kill anyone who stands in the way of that goal. _Anyone_ , without hesitation or doubt.

I pull myself back from the memory, aware of the chair underneath me again, and I direct the next thought with every bit of mental strength I can muster.

_"_ _Including_ _**you,** _ _Caleb, if you_ _**ever** _ _harm her again."_

I breathe out, feeling the explosion of anger and grief and fear and hope releasing all at once. I tear the sensors from my head and sit forward, pressing my hands to my face and letting the sobs wrack my body. It takes several minutes to pull myself together, but Caleb doesn't emerge from the other room, so I don't rush. When I'm finally calm enough, I stalk across the room and open the door to check on him.

I half expect to see that he removed the sensors before I started and is hiding there. Instead, I see him sitting in the chair, still connected, his face soaked with tears. He looks up at me, and I recognize my own desperation mirrored in his eyes. Apparently, I succeeded in sending the message strongly enough.

"I'm so sorry," he gasps, choking on a sob. "I didn't know…." He rubs at his face, his entire body shaking. "I mean, I knew you were dating, but I thought it was just…. I didn't know it was like that. And everything was being recorded, so we couldn't say anything in advance, not to either of you."

He wraps his arms around himself, rocking back and forth in the chair. "She seemed so calm as she entered the room, I thought maybe she'd figured it out. That maybe what I'd done wasn't so bad…."

His voice suddenly rises to a shout. "What the hell kind of person am I? How could I do something like that? To her, to you, to everybody." Another sob wracks his body, and he doubles over as if in pain. "I've never loved anyone like that…the way you do. I've never felt anything that deep. My whole life, I've been nothing but selfish."

For a moment, watching him, I remember Tris berating herself at Al's service, and I begin to feel something like sympathy for Caleb. He's not much older than she is, and he's struggling with many of the same issues. The loneliness of Abnegation, the struggle to fit in somewhere else, the loss of his parents, the crushing guilt over how his actions have affected others.

Maybe I've done enough to him. I reach over and begin pulling the sensors from his head. He winces away from me, the same way I pulled back from my father a hundred times over the years, but I don't let my hand drop.

"It's time for dinner," I say quietly as I continue to remove the electrodes. "And then we need to figure out what supplies we're taking with us on this mission."

He meets my gaze tearfully. "I can come with you?"

"Yeah," I answer simply. And then I manage a small smile. "But we really need to work on your self-defense skills. Right now, you're pretty useless." As I say it, I remember that he fired Tris' gun once, back in Amity. He may have saved our lives in the process. I look at him again, trying to evaluate him without the bias of everything that's happened since. Maybe, just maybe, he has some skills to offer, if we let him.

I extend a hand to him, and when he tentatively takes it, I pull him to his feet. "We should probably clean up a bit," I comment.

"Yeah," he says with a weak laugh. "You don't look so good."


	19. Chapter 19: Tris – Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 19: Tris – Best Laid Plans**

Christina, Uriah, and I take turns working with Cara on fighting techniques. It's odd to see someone from Erudite having so much difficulty grasping a subject, but I should know by now that intelligence doesn't make _everything_ easy. Eventually, Uriah's patient repetition works, and Cara develops a passable level of skill in a few techniques. I try to tell myself it will be enough.

As I'm watching them spar yet again, I notice Tori looking at the "wall of weapons," as we've taken to calling it. For a moment, I think about how unlikely it is that we'll both survive the next week, and I realize that I need to at least try to mend our relationship before I leave. After everything she's done for me, I can't do otherwise. So, I walk over and stand beside her. We both look at the weapons.

"Hi," I say in my best attempt at a casual voice. It comes out tight and tense.

Tori glances at me, but then her eyes return to the guns. After what seems like a very long time, she asks, "Did Four calm down?"

"From when?" I ask curiously. I'm not trying to be smart – I'm just not certain when she last saw him – but her mouth curves with amusement.

"He does walk that line between calm and angry a lot, doesn't he?"

I shrug a little, not sure how to answer that statement. He doesn't usually seem angry to me…. But I seem to be the only one who sees the gentler side of him, so I decide to change the subject.

"You're helping to defend the city, aren't you?"

"Yes," she answers, directing her gaze at me more solidly now. "It took me a while to buy into all this, but I finally believe the danger is real." She gives a half shrug. "So, I guess I need to do my part, despite the bum leg and all." My stomach squirms uncomfortably. Does she blame me for that?

She must read the guilt in my face, because she sighs and says, "It's not entirely your fault – I was shot, after all. And I suppose when it comes down to it…I should have listened when you tried to stop me in Jeanine's lab. You'd earned that."

The statement makes me angry, because it's true. After everything I did to help Dauntless, I had earned the right to have its leaders listen to me. But I'm here to patch things up with Tori, so I grit my teeth and try to let the anger slide. It's difficult.

She gives me an evaluating look and finally suggests, "How about we call a truce?"

"A truce?" I weigh the word for a moment, trying to fit the concept into everything I've learned in my life.

Abnegation always taught that we have to give of ourselves completely, so a truce had no place there – only forgiveness, a total surrender to the other person's needs. And I'm not ready to do that, at least not yet. But a truce implies something different – setting the past aside for now and moving forward together. A fresh start. And as I look at Tori, the woman who kept me alive through initiation, I think maybe I can do that.

I nod, and the corners of Tori's mouth lift in response as she offers her hand to me Dauntless-style. I've never been good at shaking hands, but I give it my best shot. She has the grace to act like it was a good handshake.

"I do wish you luck, by the way," she comments. "I don't know a whole lot about what you're doing, but George says it's important. I hope it goes well."

"I take it you're talking to him again?"

"Yeah…. It's always been hard to stay mad at him." Her face turns serious again as she adds, "And it's not like I _wanted_ him dead. I was just…angry about how much of my life I wasted on revenge."

I nod, but I don't know what to say. I've never faced a situation like hers before, and I don't know how I'd feel if I did. It's hard enough trying to figure out how to deal with Caleb.

Tori watches me for another moment and then says, "On that subject…. I've had enough revenge for a lifetime, so…if I don't get to see him before you go, tell Four that I'm not holding a grudge anymore. I'm still not thrilled with what he did, but all things considered, it doesn't seem that important now."

I know that's the best she can do, so I answer, "I'll tell him. And…thanks, Tori. For everything. I wouldn't be here if I'd had a different tester, you know."

A wry smile splits her face. "No, I suppose you wouldn't, Divergent. Tell you what, if you save the city, I'll claim some credit for it, and we'll call it even. Okay?"

I grin at her. "It's a deal."

* * *

Cara is tired but enthusiastic at dinner. She keeps trying her favorite self-defense grip on the food, with dubious results. Uriah laughs when she mangles the slice of bread she's handing him – until he realizes it's the last piece. Then, he gives her such a mournful look it cracks the rest of us up.

"Maybe you can piece it together with butter," Christina suggests, barely able to speak through her laughter. She proceeds to demonstrate, forming a massive ball of lumpy bread and wads of butter. She proclaims, "Good as new!" as she rolls it across the table to Uriah.

Somewhat to my disgust, he catches it and takes an enormous bite as if it's an apple. "Not bad…" he mumbles through the food, still grinning. But then his expression hardens at the sight of something behind me.

I turn around to see Tobias entering the room with Caleb. I tense immediately, knowing that they must have just talked, and that Caleb is officially coming with us. I turn back to the table so I don't have to look at my brother.

Tobias sits down next to me, and his hand grasps mine under the table. He clenches hard for a moment, and when I look at him, I realize his face is blotchy. It must have been a difficult discussion.

Part of me wants to be mad at his decision, but I had my chance to protest earlier and chose not to. There's no point in it now. Instead, I ask him quietly, "Are you okay?"

His voice is low as he answers, "I'm better now." I'm not sure what he means by that, but I suspect the answer has something to do with the way he's holding my hand and looking at me like he never wants to stop. I suppose talking to Caleb reminded him of being in Erudite, the same way it does for me. I squeeze his hand back, but I turn my gaze to the others, since I know Tobias won't want all their attention focused on him right now.

It turns out there's no need to worry about that. Christina, Uriah, and Cara are all staring at Caleb, who sat down on Tobias' other side. It's the first time he's joined us since we rescued him.

Not surprisingly, Christina is the first to react. "Why are _you_ here?" she asks more loudly than necessary.

Caleb shrinks back like he wants to leave, but Tobias clamps a hand on his arm and answers sternly, "Because he's going with us, and we need to learn to work together."

"Are you kidding me?" Christina demands. "I barely get to go, and _he's_ welcome along after everything he did?"

"I was under the serum," Caleb says quickly, his voice tense. "A really high dose…. I'm not like that now."

"Which doesn't mean you won't be again," Uriah states flatly. It's strange to hear such coldness in his voice, but of course he must wonder what role Caleb played in Marlene's death. It speaks volumes about him that he helped with the rescue despite that.

Caleb looks up almost defiantly. "No," he says loudly, "there are no guarantees – with any of us. But I know about the serum now, which means I can fight it better. And it takes a large dose to affect me – larger than for most of you. So, I'm not any more of a risk than you are."

I glare at him, annoyed. I'm not sure if it's because he sounds superior, or like he's not responsible for anything he did, or like he's attacking my friends.

Before I can say anything in response, Cara answers calmly. "That might be true, but the problem is we can't verify it. And if you're going to ask us to accept your statement on faith, I would suggest being less belligerent about it."

Caleb's cheeks turn red, and he stares at the table for a moment. I'm reminded of all the times he reprimanded me at our family's dinner table. It seems that his fellow Erudite has the power to shame him the same way. After a long pause, he sighs and mutters, "I didn't mean to be belligerent, and I _am_ sorry for what I did. If you can't forgive me, I understand, but I'll do my best anyway."

Cara nods, and I can see that there's no real anger in her. That shouldn't surprise me. She found a way to forgive me for killing Will, and it must be a breeze in comparison for her to forgive Caleb.

She turns her gaze to Christina and adds, "And you should remember how _you_ behaved under the simulation. The two scenarios aren't that different."

Christina's eyes narrow, but she bites back her response. I still don't know what she did under the simulation, and I don't want to, but whatever it is must still haunt her. After a moment, she says, "Point taken."

I can feel the tide turning – the others beginning to accept Caleb – and I don't like it. I look at Uriah, but not with any real hope. He's far too easy-going to join me in holding a grudge. Sure enough, his eyes are on Tobias, and I know he will take his cue from him, as he usually does. Tobias is practically a second brother to him, after all.

For a long moment, I stare at the table, knowing that now I'm the only hold-up, the only one who doesn't want to let my brother help us. Maybe if I refuse to look at Tobias, he'll give in and change his mind. But I know he won't. And honestly I wouldn't respect him if he did.

With a sigh, I finally look up and meet Tobias' gaze. His eyes are steady on mine, but I can't help but notice how bloodshot they are. It reminds me that he felt Caleb's betrayal almost as strongly as I did. He must be truly convinced that this is the right decision, or he would never have agreed to let my brother come with us, would never be holding him at this table until we come to some kind of terms.

And suddenly I feel tired, so tired of holding onto all this anger. I can't forgive Caleb, at least not yet, but I think of the truce Tori offered, and I realize that maybe I can do that much.

I clear my throat and look in my brother's general direction as I say quietly, "You'll have to earn forgiveness over time, but I'll give you the chance to do that."

Something in Caleb's expression breaks, and he looks at me with more depth of emotion than I've ever seen in him. His voice is hoarse as he says, "I won't let you down again. I swear."

It's all I can do to nod.

* * *

After dinner, Amar takes us back downstairs as he promised earlier. There's no discussion about who should come, but Caleb joins us, and no one stops him. The others Amar mentioned don't come – apparently, no one told them about it – and I'm glad. I still don't trust Peter, and I don't know how good the others are at planning.

Tobias and I fill our little group in on the bare bones of the plan. We don't say the name "Philadelphia" or give much detail on what we'll do when we reach the Control Computer, but we explain that we'll need to do reconnaissance in an extremely crowded city and then break into a skyscraper based on our findings.

Cara and Caleb immediately go into Erudite mode and begin thinking through logical options, but somewhat to my surprise, Christina and Uriah are just as helpful. The Dauntless do know more about tactics after all.

Together, we select weapons and a few key supplies from a storage room we didn't see earlier.

"This place has the coolest toys," Uriah says as he throws an object that curves around the room and returns to his hand – Amar called it a boomerang.

"Yeah," Christina agrees enthusiastically. "Like this," and she stretches some type of rope between her hands.

I look at it curiously. "What is that?"

"No idea," she says with a grin, "but it's cool."

"It's a bungee cord," Amar explains. "You can actually jump from a building on that, and it will stretch way down and then pull you back up again." Tobias looks a bit pale at the idea of jumping from a building on something stretchy and flimsy looking, but Christina quietly adds it to our growing pile of items to consider.

"We should all bring very large coats," Cara says thoughtfully. "That way, we can hide stuff on us as we walk around the city."

Caleb nods energetically, a little too eager to agree with her. "But they should be old," he adds, "so it looks like we're poor and have to wear whatever we can find. Otherwise, it might look suspicious." I don't say it aloud, but that's actually a pretty good idea.

We've been in the selection process for close to an hour when we hear a burst of noise coming from the stairway, and people begin streaming into the room. Anna, George, and Marcus are among them, but I don't know the others. They're talking loudly, in highly agitated tones, and it's immediately clear that something is very wrong.

Amar walks quickly toward them, and I hear him saying, "Via!" to a tall woman with red hair that is turning gray. She looks like she hasn't slept in days, and there's dried blood along the side of her face. Amar grasps her arm in greeting, and she gives him an extremely brief hug.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," she says hoarsely.

Anna walks past them to the wall of weapons and pins the map of NUSA up where we can all see it. "Olivia," she says in an attempt at calmness, "could you please repeat what you just told me?"

Olivia walks over the map and says tiredly, "NUSA has mobilized much faster than we expected. When we reached Indianapolis, there were already troops there. They ambushed us as we tried to get gas, and Mick and Tracy were killed instantly. Maya was badly injured, but we were able to get away and come up old highway 65." She runs her finger up a line that goes from Indianapolis to where Anna said our city is located. "We bombed the road around here, but we didn't get a good hit, and there's too much flat land around it. It won't delay them long. My guess is they'll be here in three or four days."

Silence greets her statement, and then Amar asks quietly, "Did Maya make it?" Olivia's mouth pulls into a tight line as she shakes her head. Her eyes are moist.

"Obviously, we should redirect our forces," Marcus states firmly. "There are multiple routes out of Indianapolis, but we can delay the troops' progress significantly if we bomb the major roads – most importantly, 55 and 57. We will also need to finish the job on 65." His eyes are cold as he looks at Olivia, as if she failed her mission. Her hands ball into fists in response, but she doesn't answer aloud.

Amar steps forward, saying, "We should also bomb 69. We'll pass right by it on our way, and it would be a sensible precaution."

"The difficulty with all of those roads," Anna says in frustration, "is that the land around them is flat. It doesn't do much good to bomb the pavement if the troops can just use the dirt instead. We're better off trying to extend the water barrier around the city."

"That's too unpredictable," a man I don't know says. "We could end up flooding the city or draining away some of the existing barrier."

"What choice do we have?" Anna demands. "We have to buy some time."

"What if we evacuate some of the Divergent population and bring them here?" someone else asks. "They could survive here for years, and then at least we could try again later if the current effort fails."

That leads to an explosion of conversation. After a few minutes, Anna shouts, "Stop it! We need to decide what to do about Amar and his group _first_ , so they can get on their way." She turns to Amar and says, "Do you still want to take the other three vehicles?"

Amar hesitates, looking at the map. Finally, he says, "No, you need them more than we do, and it's obviously too late for our original plan anyway. Just give me two – ours and one more. We'll bomb 69 on the way and Pittsburgh after that. Maybe we can at least slow down the flow of troops coming here."

His eyes move to George, and there's an odd intensity in his voice as he adds, "Hold them off as long as you can, and we'll rush as much as we can from our end. It's the best we can do." George bites his lip and nods, looking deeply worried.

Anna turns to the others and says, "They'll need items they can sell – jewelry is the easiest, particularly if it has silver or gold. If you have anything they can use, give it to them now." And she walks over to us and hands me a gold band with a small but elegant diamond on it. It's clearly her wedding ring, and my fingers tremble slightly as I take it. She closes my hand around it, squeezing gently with both of her hands as she says, "Don't sell it if you don't have to, but I'd rather have you back than it." She gives me a quick hug, whispering in my ear, "Good luck, Tris."

I don't have time to answer because the moment she moves out of the way, other people come forward, pressing jewelry into my hands and murmuring encouragement.

Beside me, I see George holding Amar's gaze as he shakily hands him a ring – one that matches the ring on Amar's wedding finger. I close my eyes. I didn't even know they were a couple, and now they're being separated by war.

I turn automatically to Tobias, in time to see Marcus shoving two silver rings at him and saying coldly, "Your mother says hello." Fierce anger goes through me, and I'm about to tell Marcus that he can't come with us after all, but then he leaves to collect the rest of our group, and it's too late.

Within minutes, everything the crowd can give us has been stashed in our pockets, and we begin grabbing the weapons and supplies we gathered earlier.

"Just take the whole pile," Amar tells us. "We'll sort it in the van and dump what we don't need when we stop for gas."

I take a last desperate look around, trying to see if there's anything else we should bring, but there's no time. It's obvious that speed is more important than details right now, particularly since most of the plan has just been thrown out the window. So, I pick up my share of the supplies and follow the others out the door.

The rest of our group joins us as we climb the never-ending stairs, and then we're putting on coats someone found for us and are filing into the back of the van. Marcus and Amar sit up front to drive, and I see four strangers getting into a black SUV next to us. I had assumed that our group was splitting up to do the bombing, but apparently there were always additional people slated for that role. It makes me realize how little I know.

Tobias sits on the floor of the van, his back in a corner, and pulls me against him as Pari closes the doors. I lean into him in the blackness, feeling his arms tight around me, and for a moment, I wish fiercely that we had one more night here to spend together – one more night to be alone. But then the engine rumbles to life, and we begin the long drive into the cold darkness. It's not a good beginning.


	20. Chapter 20: Tobias – A Rough Ride

**Chapter 20: Tobias – A Rough Ride**

This ride is even more uncomfortable than the last one. We're crammed in the same tight, windowless van as last time, bumping up and down over uneven pavement and, at times, what is clearly dirt. At least the motion sickness distracts me from the claustrophobia.

We spend the first stretch of time learning about NUSA's culture, slang, and accents, to help us blend in when we get there. Pari and Margot explain everything they think we need to know, based on their time growing up in Philadelphia. It's way too much information at once for everything to stick, but we practice the most important aspects. They seem satisfied with our progress – until we work on body language.

"Do you even know how to slouch?" Margot asks me in annoyance. "You're supposed to look down-trodden, not like you have a metal rod in your back."

I grit my teeth. I've spent the last two years learning to stand up straight and look confident, and now they want me to act like I did while I was still living with my father….

Lauren answers for me. "We spend a lot of time learning _not_ to slouch in Dauntless. It's a hard habit to change."

"Well, it's a habit that will get us all killed," Margot states flatly. "So, find a way!"

I sigh, looking at the others. They're all putting on a good kicked-puppy act, even Tris, who normally looks so strong. "How are you doing it?" I ask her.

She smiles slightly as she answers, "Sometimes, it helps to show a little vulnerability, even if it's not real." I don't smile back. The comment brings up an image of her, bruised and beaten, putting on a false face to stay safe from Peter, and later from Eric. I didn't like having her do that then, and I don't like it now, but I suppose she's right. We need to look weak without really feeling that way, and a pretend fear is a decent way to do that.

"What should I fake?" I ask reluctantly.

"I hear insects are good," Uriah says with a grin.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "It probably needs a grain of truth to work, since I'm clearly not much of an actor."

Caleb suggests tentatively, "You're very protective. Maybe you could think about the little girl from the aptitude test being in danger. She's not real, so she won't trigger a strong reaction, but it might be enough."

It's not a bad idea, but before I can respond, Christina snorts loudly. "Protective? I missed that when Molly was beating the crap out of me, and when Eric made me dangle from the chasm."

Tris snaps an answer. "Four wasn't there then, remember? And he did try to get Eric to let us surrender during fights."

Christina rolls her eyes and says, "Fine, then I didn't see much protectiveness when he was throwing knives at you."

"That _was_ being protective," I snarl, "since the alternative was for Eric to throw them."

Christina looks frustrated. "I'm not saying you're a bad guy or anything," she tries to clarify. "I just think you need a realistic vulnerability, and I don't think people become Dauntless instructors if they're 'very protective.'"

"They do if they're protecting their best friend's Divergent brother," Uriah answers firmly, and I feel a brief flare of gratitude. I never said it aloud, to anyone, but I guess it wasn't hard to figure out that was my primary goal when I volunteered to train this year's initiates.

"It's a moot point, anyway," Cara interrupts. As everyone looks at her, she turns to me and adds, "My observations have been that you respond to fear with strength and an excellent poker face. So, feeling vulnerable won't help you look weaker. I think you should try thinking of something relaxing instead, or even a little bit happy."

A very long pause answers that statement, but it does make sense. I've spent my whole life hiding my fears and injuries – acting like they don't exist. I only lose that control in extreme situations, and it wouldn't be helpful for me to imagine those during this mission.

"You might be right," I finally mutter.

Cara nods in acknowledgement and then reminds me, "But you're not aiming for giddy."

"Well, that eliminates all thoughts of Tris," Peter says with a smirk. "Do you even have any other happy memories?"

I glare at him. "Some," I say, though the truth is there aren't many. Most of them relate to Zeke, so I focus on those, thinking back to moments with him before I met Tris, before I worried about Eric realizing I liked her, before war broke out…. Something relaxing and just a little happy….

What finally comes to mind is the feeling I always got early in an evening of drinking with him, just when I started to relax but before I lost track of my thoughts. I haven't drunk like that since the night by the chasm, when I said whatever I did to Tris. I was too panicked after that, thinking about what I might have revealed, to risk drinking again, but now I focus on that feeling and try to let my body imitate it.

"Better," Margot says, evaluating me. "But relax your shoulders more."

I sink further into the feeling, sending it through my arms and shoulders, trying to imagine my grip loosening and my body stumbling a little with the first signs of drunkenness. My face goes slack with my body.

Margot finally nods in approval. " _Much_ better. Keep practicing it, though."

"In the meantime," Pari interrupts, "we need to move on to something else important – how to act when the government broadcasts a message."

The others stop their side conversations and pay attention as she continues, "They always send a mental alert first, so everyone has time to stop what they're doing. And you'll see it like a wave as everyone turns in exactly the same direction in unison and just waits. And then the message comes. Afterwards, everyone starts back up at the same time, like nothing happened. It will be hard for you to imitate that, because you obviously won't receive the alert, but if you don't follow it well, someone will notice. That will be your most vulnerable time every day."

"Are people aware of their surroundings during the broadcast," Tris asks, "or just at the beginning and end of it?"

Pari purses her lips thoughtfully at that and says, "To be honest, I don't know. I was always aware during the message, but of course I'm resistant to it, so my reaction may not be typical. People look essentially frozen during it, but I don't know if they're seeing or not. It would be safer to assume they are."

"Afterwards, are they aware that they received a message?" Caleb asks curiously.

Margot and Pari both laugh, and then Margot answers. "It's impossible to say because _no one_ talks about it. That prohibition is part of the message." That's not reassuring.

Tris frowns and asks, "Are the messages sent at a particular time of the day?"

I can see the answer on Pari's face before she says it aloud. "Not nearly as reliably as we need. They used to broadcast most often in the evening, but given everything going on right now, it's a good bet they'll be broadcasting multiple times a day at random times." Great….

"You two will both receive the messages, though, right?" Tris asks Pari and Margot. When they nod, she continues, "So, we'll need to follow your lead. That means we'll need a signal of some kind when the message begins."

Margot shakes her head and says, "Sorry, but any kind of signal will attract attention, and it won't really give you lead time. When you see us turn the same direction as everyone else, you turn too. That's your signal."

Tris bites her lip thoughtfully, but it's Caleb who speaks next. "So, you'll always be in the lead, I assume." It's not really a question.

Pari nods. "We may split up at times, but not into more than two groups, so one of us can lead each group. And when we're driving, one of us will need to be up front and one in the back."

"What about the other vehicle?" Robert asks, startled. Trust an Amity-Abnegation mix to worry about them.

"They're all like us," Margot says. "From within NUSA, I mean. They'll be fine."

Tris' voice is suspicious as she says, "But that means they can't drink the water there, can they? How will they complete their mission and get away?"

Margot's eyes narrow, and she's silent for a very long time. Just when I think she's not going to answer, she finally says, "We all know the risks we're undertaking. They have special water bottles, and hopefully that will be enough to get them through." But it's clear from her tone that she doesn't think that's likely, and I realize they must have signed up for a suicide mission. The thought sends a chill through me, even though our mission may not be much safer.

"Even if they're captured," Margot continues, "they don't know anything about our plans, and they haven't even seen most of you, so they can't turn us in." She looks away, her face grim. And I understand the second meaning behind her words. She and Pari _can_ give us away if they're captured, so if that happens, we have to either rescue them or kill them. Judging by the expressions around the room, most of the others understand that too, but no one says anything about it. It's not exactly a friendly topic of conversation.

After a moment, Pari pulls us all together to practice responding to fake broadcasts. It's difficult to do in the van, with everyone being jostled by the constant movement, but she keeps it up for close to an hour to be sure we have a handle on it.

By the time we finish, we're all exhausted and ready to get some sleep. I return to the corner I picked earlier, and Tris sits with me as the others find spots.

When Pari turns the light out, I pull Tris against me, holding her tight to soothe the day's tensions. Even her presence isn't enough to relax me at the moment, but it helps to breathe her scent and to feel her body pressed against mine. We're silent, with the others so close by, but she turns a little in my arms so she can kiss me gently under my jaw. I run my fingers through her hair and tilt her head up, kissing her slowly and deeply. A nervous excitement travels through me at doing something so private when we're in such a public place, but at the same time, it feels good, so good to kiss her right now.

"You two aren't nearly as quiet as you think you are," Peter says snidely after a moment, and we break apart quickly. My first impulse is to strangle him, but I settle for pulling Tris back into my arms and just holding her. She presses the side of her face to my chest and snuggles in to sleep. It takes a long time for slumber to find us, but eventually it does.

* * *

When I wake up at three-thirty, the van is quiet and motionless. I disentangle myself carefully from Tris and climb out the door as quietly as possible. There's no way to avoid letting a blast of cold air in, but hopefully it doesn't wake anyone up, and at least I manage to re-latch the door without shaking the vehicle.

As I walk to the front, I notice the SUV sitting dark beside us, and I can just make out the shapes of four people sleeping inside it.

In the front of the van, Marcus sits in the passenger seat, dozing lightly. Amar, on the other hand, looks deeply out of it, his head resting on the steering wheel as he sleeps soundly. I open his door, intending to offer to drive for a while, but I immediately realize my mistake. It's a bad idea to startle someone as deadly as Amar.

I step back quickly, raising my hand automatically to block the inevitable strike. The contact is hard anyway.

"It's Four!" I say loudly, and he pulls his hand back, staring at me for a moment. Then, he swears. Beside him, my father has already jumped to alertness, and he narrows his eyes as he glares at me suspiciously. I ignore him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Amar asks. "You know better than that."

"Sorry. I thought I'd see if we could get moving again with another driver."

Amar looks over at the SUV. "I didn't realize they were back." He runs a hand up the back of his head. "We were sleeping while they went to bomb highway 69. I guess they were too tired to continue when they came back."

"They should have awoken us," Marcus states coldly. "One of us could have driven that vehicle. Instead, we've lost time we couldn't afford to lose." His tone implies that this is somehow my fault. I grit my teeth but don't bother responding. There's never any point in arguing when he gets like this.

Amar calmly addresses him. "I'm still pretty drowsy, so if you can drive the SUV, I'll let Four drive this one for a while."

My father glares for another moment and then departs silently. I don't watch him.

"God, he's an ass," Amar mutters as he slides over to the passenger seat. I chuckle and climb into the driver's seat.

"Every day of my life." As I adjust the seat and mirrors, I ask, "Should I follow the SUV, or are you going to stay awake to be navigator?"

"After the way you woke me, I'll be lucky to sleep again for a year." He grins. "But follow the SUV anyway. That way, they can hit the potholes, and we'll get to avoid them." I'm certainly not going to argue with that.

Amar chats idly as we start moving, bumping and rattling along the broken road. It's miserable driving in conditions like this, but in a way it's better than being in the closed-in back part. At least I can see up here.

"How far along are we?" I ask after a bit.

Amar leans forward to double-check the odometer and says, "About two-thirds of the way to Toledo. We'll stop for gas there, since there are still a lot of working stations in that area."

He settles back into his seat and asks with a yawn, "I assume you learned all about NUSA culture?" When I glance at him, I see a sly smile on his face. He must realize parts of it didn't come easily.

"Yes, apparently I'm a perfect fit for it."

He chuckles. "I'm sure you are, Four."

"You're not supposed to call me that anymore. It seems that standing up straight, being tall and stone-faced, and being called by a number is likely to attract attention."

He grins. "Who would've guessed?" But he turns serious again as he asks, "Are you okay with 'Tobias?' Because we can use a different nickname if you want."

"It's…okay. Half the group already uses that name, so there will be fewer mess-ups if I go by it."

He nods. "I suppose it must not be too bad, or Tris wouldn't call you that."

I feel a touch of red rising up my face. "When I shared it with her, I intended it to be private." I shrug. "But it didn't work out that way."

He laughs. "Things rarely stay private when they're supposed to. When George and I first got together, we didn't want anyone to know. Partly in case it didn't work out, and partly because of the whole push for Divergent people to have kids and pass on the good genes." He shrugs. "Anyway, we thought we were so careful, but then one day Anna casually asked me if I was going to need my room that weekend or if I'd be in George's, because they needed a space for a visitor. She saw right through us."

A smile tugs at my mouth. "That doesn't surprise me. She's a lot like Tris."

"I've noticed." He squirms around a bit, trying to get more comfortable. "Anyway, it worked out fine. She officiated when we exchanged rings a couple of months later."

"A couple of months?" I ask, a bit startled. "Were you in a hurry or something?"

He smiles fondly. "Sometimes, you just know it's right."

I nod, swerving around a particularly large pothole. "Yeah," I say after a moment, "I can understand that."

"That's obvious," he says with a soft chuckle. He evaluates me for a moment before adding, "You two make a good couple, you know. I've seen a lot over the years – ones that worked and ones that didn't – and you two press the right buttons in each other."

I smile a little despite myself. There aren't many people whose opinions I care about in this world, but like it or not, Amar is one of them.

"Think you'll get married?" he asks casually – so casually that it takes a second for me to freeze in response. Then, every muscle in my body goes rigid, and it becomes difficult to steer.

I always swore to myself that I'd never get married, after watching my parents for so many years. Two months ago, I still felt that way, absolutely, unambiguously. But now….

"I don't know," I mutter stiffly. He waits in silence, and I finally admit, "I do think about it, sometimes."

He nods but doesn't say anything else. He's always been better than Zeke about not pushing a subject too far. Still, I'd rather discuss something else, so I eventually say, "I'm surprised George didn't come with us."

There's an odd mixture of sadness and relief in Amar's voice as he answers, "He couldn't. He was captured a while back, and NUSA got all his identifying information on record. It would have been a risk to all of us for him to come."

I nod, thinking about how I'd feel if I were here without Tris. I suppose it would depend on whether I felt she was safer being left behind or not, but with the city coming under attack, that's a hard question to answer.

"Did they pull you out to rescue him?" I ask after a moment.

"No," Amar says with mild surprise. "Marcus actually did that. It was a long time ago."

Every muscle in my body stiffens again. _How long ago?_

My voice is harsh when I finally find it. "Is that when he got exposed to a high dose of the serum?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Amar's body language shift, tensing up before he forces himself to relax again. "No," he says softly. "He never got a high dose among the rebels. If he got one at all, it was back in Erudite as a teenager, when Jeanine was beginning her experiments. I don't know for certain either way, but it's definitely possible he got one then."

The words stir multiple thoughts at once, and I don't know which direction to follow first. Finally, I say, "That doesn't fit with the timing my mother described."

Amar raises his eyebrows. "What timing would that be?"

I clear my throat and manage to speak. "She said he spent a couple of days in the rebel camp when he first became a leader, and that he was different after that."

Amar thinks for a bit before responding. "That would be when he rescued George... But there's nothing in the records about him being exposed then, and they're really anal about those records." He tenses a bit and adds, "We're not supposed to look at other people's records, by the way, so please don't mention that to anyone. I only looked because I wanted to know more about who I was working with – you know, after seeing your fear landscape."

I nod absently. I don't care that he looked at Marcus' records. I care about whether or not they're accurate, and it sounds like they are. Does that mean my mother was simply wrong, or did the stress of the mission affect him in some other manner? War certainly changes people. Maybe the serum had nothing to do with it after all.

"Anyway," Amar continues, "both of your parents, and Tris' dad for that matter, were friends with Jeanine in Erudite during their school years. We know she began experimenting with the serum around that time, and we know they had a major falling out after that, and all three of them transferred to Abnegation. There was clearly bad feeling between them afterwards, but at the same time, they kept working together, and they stayed tight-lipped about what happened... It's possible all three of them got a hefty dose, or any combination of them, or none."

I nod again, realizing I'll probably never get the full story on that, any more than Tris did before her father died. And that means I'll never know if Marcus' violence was all him or was triggered in any manner.

I remember reading once in a psychology textbook that abusers aren't usually that way early in a relationship. They don't start hitting until after they're married, sometimes after they've had kids. Maybe my father's timing was typical, and it had nothing to do with anything else. Or maybe Jeanine did affect him, or the mission, or both. I clench the steering wheel hard in frustration. I want some explanation, some idea how much to hate Marcus and how much to worry about becoming like him, but I'll probably never get it.

We go over a particularly large bump, and my head hits the ceiling. I swerve around another one.

"When do you think we'll reach Toledo?" I ask, glad of an excuse to change the subject.

"Probably around dawn." Amar yawns, and I realize he's far more tired than he's admitting.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" I tell him. "I'm fine following the SUV, and if you rest now, you can take over later when I'm tired."

He hesitates for a moment but then nods. "Okay, but if you start getting sleepy, wake me up. It helps to talk."

"Of course." And he drifts off, leaving me driving in the darkness, mired in even darker thoughts.


	21. Chapter 21: Tris – Unexpected Find

**Chapter 21: Tris – Unexpected Find**

We awaken to a blast of cold air mixing with Tobias' voice. "Everyone up!" he calls in his crisp instructor tone, and we jump to alertness instantly.

"We need to find a working gas station," he continues, "and the fastest way is to fan out on foot in all directions." He looks around, making sure he has our attention. "There shouldn't be anyone else here, but we'll carry our guns and travel in groups just in case."

He evaluates us for a moment before saying, "Lauren, can you take a group?" When she nods, he adds, "Take Marcus with you; he knows how to check the gas pumps. Uriah, and Lisa, you're with her. You'll be heading that way," and he points clearly to his left.

"Peter, Robert, Caleb, and Pari, you're going with Amar, that way," and he points to the right. "Tris, Christina, Cara, and Margot, you're with me, heading that way." This time, he gestures behind us. "The people in the SUV will form a fourth group that checks the stations ahead of us. Each group should travel no more than fifteen minutes, checking every station you pass. Then, if you haven't found anything, go over a block and come back along that road. This whole area uses a grid system, so you can pick a block in either direction. Check every pump at every station – we can use anything that functions."

He glances around to see if there are any questions and then states, "All right. Get guns and ammo." His face stern, he adds, " _But be careful before shooting!_ You're much more likely to run into one of us than someone else, and I will not be amused if you shoot each other."

"Spoil-sport," Christina mutters under her breath, and I bite my tongue trying not to laugh.

We step out into the first light of dawn. We're in what's left of an old parking lot at one corner of an intersection. Trees have worked their way through the broken pavement in numerous places, but the roads are still visible. I shiver in the cold air, feeling the sharp edge even through my coat. The land all around us is flat, and the buildings look somewhat foreign. It's like our city and yet not.

The SUV is parked at the other end of the lot, and the four people we don't know stand with their backs to us, speaking with Amar and Marcus. I remember what Margot said last night, and realize they're probably not supposed to look at us if they can avoid it. After all, the less they know, the less they can reveal. As I watch, they head away, and Amar and Marcus walk over to join us.

Amar eyeballs the groups that Tobias formed. "Nice try, Fo – Tobias," he says with a bit of a laugh, "but Tris is with me. Peter, switch groups with her."

"What?" I demand immediately. I'm not sure if I'm annoyed because he's trying to split me apart from Tobias or because he's acting like he needs to protect me, as if I'm a helpless little girl.

He looks straight at me. "The entire point of this mission is to get one of you to the end," he says as he gestures between me and Tobias. "So, any time we split into groups, you two go different ways. It maximizes our odds. And when possible, Uriah does too, since he's your backup." I glance at Uriah in surprise, but the expression on his face shows this isn't news to him.

My response is simple. "No." When Amar raises an eyebrow, I elucidate a bit. "Tobias and I are a team. You get both of us, or neither."

"Fine," he answers without pause. "Then, you wait here. Get back in the van."

My eyes narrow coldly, but Amar doesn't look away. I don't know what to make of his expression – there's no anger in it, but I'm not sure I've ever seen someone look so unyielding. After a long pause, Tobias says quietly to me, "Just go with him. This isn't the time for a fight." I turn to him, staring disbelievingly. We agreed to stay together, and at the first opportunity, he's dropping that? Of course he is, I realize. As long as I'm safe, he doesn't think it's a problem. It apparently doesn't matter whether I know he's safe or not.

I guess he sees the bitterness in my face, because he reminds me, "We didn't set any conditions up front, and this isn't the time to add them. We'll talk to him later." A thousand retorts come to mind, but the set of his face tells me they won't do any good, and my bitterness turns to cold anger. If he won't stand up for our deal, why should I?

I turn my back on him and walk to Amar's group. Tobias reaches for my arm as I pass, but I pull it out of reach and keep marching, refusing to meet his eyes or let him touch me.

Amar looks at me for another moment, but I just stare straight ahead, and finally he says, "All right, let's go."

We begin walking down the center of a wide road that used to contain multiple lanes. As with the parking lot, cracks and splits cover its surface like a spider web, with plants growing in them. We must not be in the middle of the city, because the blocks are large here, and the buildings are short and surrounded by vegetation. For some two hundred feet, we see nothing but trees on both sides of the road. Perhaps there was a park here that has since overgrown, but it's strange to me to see so many trees together with no sign of human habitation among them. It brings to mind forests I've read about but never seen.

Animals scurry nearby, startling us with each movement. I keep pointing my gun, only to realize I'm aiming at a squirrel or bird or some creature I've never seen before. Caleb is equally jumpy, though Robert appears calmer. I suppose he became accustomed to trees and animals during his time in Amity, or maybe he simply has a more relaxed personality than my brother and I do.

At first, I'm relieved when we get past the trees and into an old shopping center. But the emptiness has an eerie quality to it that makes me twitch. As with the forested area, we see movements and hear periodic noises as animals scurry around the buildings and parking lots that nature is reclaiming. We stop at a gas station that has a battered Shell sign still standing by a half-collapsed building. Amar tries all the pumps as the rest of us stand guard, each facing a different direction.

"No luck," he says after the last one. "Let's keep moving."

We continue past more shopping areas, and I find myself focused on a sign that says, "aff e H." When we get closer, I see a second sign and figure out the missing letters. "Waffle House." I have no idea what that is.

"There's another station up there," Robert says, gesturing to the other side of the road, some two hundred feet ahead. I can't make out the sign on it, but I see the unmistakable shape of pumps and realize he's right. Amar turns back to us, starting to respond, when the first shot rings out.

My pulse leaps into my throat, adrenaline making time slow down as I whirl, trying to find the shooter. Around me, I can sense more than see the others doing the same thing.

"There," Pari shouts, pointing at the gas station, and I see a large brown and green vehicle partially hidden behind the back set of pumps. "NUSA military!"

There's a flicker of movement, and Amar, Pari, and I all aim at it as we begin running for the nearest shelter – a narrow alleyway between two buildings, with trees growing in front of it. It's close to a hundred feet away.

Our shots sound along with those of our attackers, followed by the rapid pat-pat-pat of a machine gun. With my free hand, I grab Caleb's arm and haul him forward, hard, forcing him to run faster than he thinks he can. I shouldn't care about him right now, but I do. I don't entirely know why.

It seems to take forever to reach the alley, but finally we pile into it, huddling together at the entrance so we can look for a clear shot. But it's no good – from here, our attackers are completely blocked from view.

"Let's go on through," I shout, continuing along the alleyway, and the others follow me without question. When we reach the other end, I peer cautiously around the corner, but I can't see the gas station from here, either – just the back of the building that's shielding us and another set of trees at the far corner of it. I nod toward the trees and start in that direction, but Amar grabs my shoulder firmly and steps in front of me.

"Wait here until I signal you," he whispers, and he begins moving with silent precision along the back of the building, his gun held in front of him. When he reaches the trees, I can tell he sees our attackers, because he crouches down and begins firing in rapid succession. Someone screams in pain, and then shouts and gunfire fill the air.

Pari and I both race toward Amar, and a split second later, Caleb follows. Pari takes up a position behind a tree and begins shooting too, but as I start to join them, Amar yells fiercely, "Stay back!"

"Forget it!" I snarl, moving forward, only to feel Caleb's hand clamp on my arm.

"Beatrice," he says desperately, "you can't. We need you too much."

I yank my arm free as I whirl on him, ready to strike the way I did during practice, but at the last second, I stop myself and just glare at him instead. He stands there, looking frightened but determined, and suddenly I notice something I should have before. My eyes move beyond him to the alleyway we ran through as a cold weight drops into my stomach.

"Where's Robert?" I ask tensely, trying to remember if I've seen him since the first shot sounded.

Caleb twists around to look, and then turns back to me, his eyes filled with horror. "I don't know," he whispers.

My feet start moving before I realize what I'm doing, racing back the way we came. Caleb runs beside me. We stop where we entered the alleyway, scanning the route we followed, but a shot to my left distracts me. I peer carefully across the front of the building. A minute ago, we couldn't see anything from here, but now two attackers stand at the far front corner of the building. They're using it as a shield to shoot at Amar and Pari.

"I'll take the taller one," I whisper to Caleb, so quietly he couldn't hear me if he wasn't pressed to my side. "You take the other."

I can hear him swallow. He's never had to kill someone before, but it's us or them right now. Or more accurately, it's them or everyone back home.

I aim, feeling the ghost of Tobias' hands on my arms as I do so. "On three," I whisper, and he nods. "One, two, three." Our guns sound simultaneously, and both figures drop to the ground. They don't move afterwards.

"Do you think there are more?" Caleb asks shakily.

"Always assume so," I respond tersely as I check the visible area. There's no one upright, but my eyes land on a form crumpled at the side of the road. Robert. My heart jumps. _Is he injured or dead?_

I hear more shots, a little farther away now, and realize Amar and Pari must have moved to the clump of trees at the back of the gas station. They'll be firing from behind now, which means our attackers will be looking that direction. This is our chance…. There's another clump of trees between us and the gas station. If we skirt along the front of the building, it's only a short run to those, and they'll provide cover while we fire from the side. I start to move, but as he did earlier, Caleb pulls me back.

"They have this, Beatrice. Let them do it."

"You don't know that," I respond angrily. "And I won't just sit around while they die."

The next words jerk out of him unexpectedly. "You didn't say goodbye to Tobias. If anything happens to you, he'll never forgive himself." I freeze, staring at him. His eyes burn with an intensity I've never seen before, and slowly I realize he's right.

_Why did I leave like that? Why didn't I kiss him, tell him I love him…._ I swallow the bile, trying to figure out if I can do what Caleb is asking. Stay here and let others handle this. But more shots sound, and I know I can't. I just can't.

Caleb recognizes the look in my eyes, and he closes his own in resignation. "Okay, but I go first," he finally whispers. And without waiting for an answer, he starts across the front of the building. As I watch him, something clicks into place deep inside me. He's my brother again.

When he reaches the corner of the building, he steps carefully over the dead bodies and peers around the side of the building. There must be nothing there, because he races for the trees ahead, stopping behind one to look again. After a moment, he turns to me and gestures that it's clear. I reach him so quickly I'm not sure my feet touch the ground in between.

There are a half dozen people in green and brown uniforms scattered around the vehicle and gas pumps. They're exchanging fire with Amar and Pari, who are stationed exactly where I imagined. This time, I pick two targets for myself, though I only assign one to Caleb. His aim isn't as fast as mine. We fire on "three" again. The soldiers are still falling as I turn to my second target, firing as soon as I have a decent shot. I can tell immediately that she's only wounded, but it's a hit to the torso, and she drops to the ground in pain.

The others retreat, trying to find shelter that hides them from both angles of attack, but Amar and Pari pick them off as they run for the next set of trees.

It's quiet after the last one falls, except for a low moaning coming from the soldier I injured. We wait, making sure no one else is hiding, but eventually Amar and Pari emerge from cover, holding their guns ready in front of them as they scan the area and the building to make sure all our attackers are down.

Pari stops over the wounded soldier, apparently debating what to do. I'm suddenly sure she's about to fire again, and I run forward. It's foolish to care about the life of someone I just tried to kill, but now that the soldier is no longer a threat, it feels wrong to shoot her.

As I get closer, I can see that she's bleeding heavily from a wound to her side. With proper medical care, it could be treated, but here, it's probably fatal. I bite my lip. I've killed before, and I've seen people die up close, but never that combination. I don't want to watch her die, but I can't look away.

Caleb comes up beside me, staring too. After a long time, he asks, "Should we try to question her before...you know?" Pari nods, her mouth set in a tense line.

"We probably won't get anything," she says quietly, so only we can hear, "but sometimes the serum has strange effects as someone is dying, and they tell you all kinds of things. We'll try."

Suddenly, it's too much to take. My hands ball into fists, and I walk away, fast, back to the road. I need to see if Robert is still alive. I need to at least see his face one last time. Caleb goes with me.

Robert lies at the side of the road, curled into a fetal position, his hands resting over his abdomen. No…. They _were_ resting there, but now they hang limp, covered with blood. A dark red pool surrounds his motionless form. His body. That's what death is, changing us from a person to an empty body.

His face is pale, drained of all color, and I stare at it. Robert is in so many of my memories, almost as many as Caleb or my parents. In my mind, I see him again, rolling his eyes as Caleb and Susan flirted. If we'd both stayed in Abnegation, we probably would have ended up married – not because I was particularly drawn to him, but because that's how things work in Abnegation. And yet I didn't even notice when he chose Amity, and I barely spoke with him the few times I saw him after that. Even worse, I realize with a twinge that I feel through my entire body, I rejected the last hug he offered me.

Caleb's quiet sob catches my attention, his pain mirroring mine. "He died alone," Caleb whispers, and I bite my lip again, trying to blink back the tears. But it's no use. The Abnegation reject most forms of physical contact, but when I turn to Caleb, neither of us even hesitates. We wrap our arms around each other, holding tightly as we both cry for the friend whose gentle laughter we'll never hear again.

After a very long time, what feels like forever, I pull away. I press my hands to my face to erase the tears, and we walk back to the gas station.

Amar and Pari are still questioning the soldier, and I don't want to hear that conversation, so I climb in the back of the vehicle. It seems huge, with benches all around the inside walls and weapons in racks above those. Large containers are secured in place on the floor, and a quick look reveals they're filled with supplies.

Something nags at me as I look around, but it doesn't come together until Caleb voices it. "Beatrice," he says softly, "this must hold at least twenty people. Where are all the others?"

I meet his gaze as my insides turn to ice. We fought eight – maybe a third of the total. "They must have split up like we did." And that means…. _"We need to find Tobias, now."_

As I finish the words, we hear gunfire begin in the distance.


	22. Chapter 22: Tobias – Searching

**Chapter 22: Tobias – Searching**

I _hate_ fighting with Tris, hate everything about it, especially now. My mind is still mired in the memory I showed Caleb yesterday, and it _hurt_ to watch Tris leave like that, without even looking at me. It felt like physical pain, as if she ripped part of me away and carried it with her. Why does she have to be so stubborn sometimes?

It's not like I wanted us to go separate ways today, but it would have been worse to defy Amar in front of everyone. I know from my time training initiates how important it is to establish authority up front. You can never really do it later. And this mission will be far more dangerous if the others don't follow Amar's lead, if they don't obey his orders quickly and without question. No, I had to make it clear he was in charge. I just wish Tris had understood.

I grit my teeth in frustration. I don't even know when I'll have a chance to explain, assuming she'll let me. It's not like there's any privacy in this group.

"There's another station on the left side," Christina calls, interrupting my thoughts, and I force my attention back to the present. This is no time to be unfocused.

The others surround the pumps as they did at the last station, facing outwards, guns ready, while I check to see if there's anything we can use here. My father taught me years ago how to get gas from a station without electricity, but it's often not possible. You need a manual crank, or a backup generator, or access to the underground tank, or a way to power the pump from a vehicle's engine. This station doesn't provide any of that.

"No luck," I tell the others. "Let's move on."

Christina and Cara walk along one side of the road, talking occasionally in quiet voices. I keep a loose eye on Christina's leg, watching for signs of weakness that will get us into trouble later. So far, though, I have to give her credit. She's keeping up a good pace without complaining.

Peter migrates closer to me as we continue, and it occurs to me that I never had a chance to ask him about his motives before we left. This is probably the best opportunity I'll get.

"Exactly why did you come on this mission?" I ask him bluntly, my eyes shifting between him and the road ahead.

He looks at me with mild surprise. I suppose it is a much more Candor-like question than I normally ask.

"Well? Aren't you going to threaten to hurt me if I don't answer?" he prompts.

A twinge goes through me as I realize how many times I've done exactly that. Now that I know his background is like mine, it feels wrong to do it again. Instead, I look around at the shattered roads and empty city and respond, "No, but if I don't think we can trust you, you're not coming with us. So, decide now if you want to live here on your own or give me an honest answer."

Peter gazes at our surroundings, and I can tell he's actually considering it. Maybe he's right. There's plenty of wildlife to eat here, and with weapons and a plethora of empty buildings to use as his home, he could probably do fine until the war is resolved.

Just as I think he's decided to go that route, he answers me. "I came along because the safest place to be is wherever the Stiff is."

I cock an eyebrow at him. He can't possibly be serious. But he shrugs and says, "It's not like there are a bunch of choices. The city's coming under attack, and the rebels are all going to fight, so that's out. And everyone else is under mind control – and there's no way I'm living like that. But somehow _she_ always ends up getting what she wants, no matter what dumb thing she does that should get her killed. So, all things considered…I'll stick with her."

For a moment, I stare at him, forgetting to keep checking our surroundings as I try again to fathom how his mind works. Tris has earned every good thing she's managed to scrape out of this world, and she's suffered more than most people have – far more than she deserves. How can he see that as getting what she wants?

"You're not exactly winning me over," I finally growl.

He rolls his eyes. "There's that threatening tone. I knew it couldn't hide for long." I keep my gaze fixed on him, and eventually he adds, "Look, just don't expect me to die for any of you. Because I won't do that. But it's not like I'm going to turn you in or anything. It's better for me if this thing succeeds."

"And will you _help_ us succeed?" I ask. "Enough to make it worthwhile to bring you?"

" _Yes_ ," he says in mild annoyance. "I'm not worthless, you know."

I sigh, remembering to look around again as I think about that. It's true that he has skills – it's just hard to know who he'll use them to support. I rub the back of my neck and say, "You're not exactly the most loyal person, so I need more than that. Convince me you care if we win."

He looks away, and again I think he's not going to answer, but finally he says, "I don't want my mom to die." He doesn't meet my eyes, and it's clear he doesn't want to continue, but after another moment he does. "She took me in after…well, when I had nowhere else to go. Because of her, I was able to live in a faction and get enough to eat, and I was safe." He looks at me defiantly and says, "I won't die for her either, just so we're straight, but I'll help you for her sake."

I try to decide whether or not to believe him. When I saw him in Erudite after the attack, just before Tori had everyone come after me, it was clear he'd lost someone. And it definitely upset him, as much as anything upsets Peter. He must have lost his adoptive father. It's possible that's motivating him to do more this time, to protect his adoptive mother. It's also possible that he's lying, but I don't think so, and I'm generally a good judge of that. I decide it's worth the chance.

"Okay–" I start, before the sound of a distant gunshot cuts me off.

We spring to alertness, looking around quickly, guns at the ready. There's nothing in sight, and for a second I allow myself to hope that someone got jumpy and fired at a squirrel. The hope disappears with the second shot.

"Get behind those trees," I say, my voice low, as I gesture to a clump by the side of the road. The others obey me instantly.

More shots sound, still distant. "They're coming from that direction," Margot says tensely, pointing, but I don't bother to look. I already know which group has come under fire. _Tris'._

I control my panic. This is my group, and I have a duty to give them directions before I can go help her. Looking at Christina's leg, I make a quick decision.

"Christina, you and Cara return to the vehicles and guard them. If the others come back, let them know that Amar's group is under attack – up to four people can take the SUV and help, but the others need to keep guarding the van. If we lose it, we lose this mission." Christina's eyes are wide, but she nods, and she and Cara set off immediately.

I turn to Margot and Peter and say, "We need to try to help Amar's group." I don't say Tris' name, but of course they know I'm thinking it. "I'm going to run as fast as I can, and that's _very_ fast. If I get ahead of you, just keep going. Stay under cover as much as you can, but get there."

I look at Peter and add, "This is your chance to prove you're useful." I don't wait for his reaction. Instead, I let the adrenaline pump through me, pushing my legs as fast as they can go. I'm vaguely aware of the other two running behind me, trying to keep up.

We race down street after street, crashing through wildly overgrown yards and patches of trees. My lungs burn fiercely, but I refuse to slow down. The gunfire continues, which at least means that someone from our side is still alive, still fighting back. _Please let that include Tris._

It's worse when the silence returns. The fear tightens its grip around my stomach, making it even harder to breathe as my thoughts race through the same loop with each step. Her face through the tiny window of my Erudite cell. Her back as she walked away from me this morning. God, don't let that be the last time I see her alive.

I keep up my frantic pace, pounding down another street. Without the gunfire, I'm not entirely sure I'm going the right direction, but I think this is the street they headed down earlier. It must be.

I'm halfway across an abandoned shopping center when I hear more shots. Again, they're distant, but this time they're coming from my left. I don't know if that means I'm heading the wrong direction or if a second group has come under attack. I stop, panting heavily as I try to figure out what to do.

Another round fires, and I'm sure it's farther away than the original shots we heard. That must mean it's a second attack, going after another group of ours. As bad as that is, I can't take my mind off Tris, and I know I have to find her before trying to help the others. My feet begin moving again, in the same direction as before. I hope it's the right one.

I pound my way across the rest of the shopping center before I realize I can hear the rumble of an engine. It's not coming from where we parked, which means it must be an enemy vehicle. Dread fills me, sending tendrils of ice through every vein in my body. Amar must have lost the battle.

For a second, the panic runs rampant through me, but I've had enough practice controlling it to manage even now. I push it down ruthlessly, forcing my mind to think again as I scramble behind the nearest tree. If nothing else, I know that NUSA takes prisoners so they can drug them for information. And Amar would do everything possible to ensure Tris was the last one standing, which means the enemy would want to capture her, not kill her. So, there's a good chance she's still alive, and that means I need to focus on rescuing her.

I slow my breathing as I aim my gun carefully at the middle of the road and click the safety off. And then I wait.

An enormous green and brown vehicle lumbers into view, bumping wildly as it goes down the street too fast. I aim at the driver, my finger hovering over the trigger. But something stops me. It takes me a second to realize I'm thinking of my own words from earlier, to be careful before shooting. I look more closely, and then I'm running out into the road, waving my arms crazily to flag them down.

"Amar!" I roar at the top of my lungs. _He's driving._

The vehicle screeches to a halt, but even over the noise it makes, I hear Tris' voice as she shouts, "Tobias!" Relief floods through me, weakening me and strengthening me at the same time. _She's alive. Thank God._

A door at the end of the vehicle opens, and Tris leaps out, racing at me as fast as I'm heading for her. We crash into each other, our arms and bodies pulling us together so fiercely there's no room for air between us. I press my face into her hair and hold her like I'll never let go. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I stop them. This is still an urgent situation. I have to maintain control.

As if to emphasize that, another burst of gunfire sounds in the distance. I force myself to step back from Tris, though I grip her hand tightly and pull her with me as I approach the driver's door.

Amar looks at me tensely, and beside him I can see Pari watching the road ahead. Before either of them can speak, I say, "Margot and Peter are right behind me. Can we wait for them?"

"If they're quick," Amar snaps. "But if they're not here within two minutes, we leave without them. They'll have the sense to go back to the van if they can't find you."

"What happened to Christina and Cara?" Tris asks, her voice filled with worry.

I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "They're fine. I sent them back to guard the van." Looking at Amar, I add, "Christina couldn't keep up, with her leg, so it seemed like the best option." His eyes narrow a bit, but he doesn't say anything. I suspect he's wondering if I abandoned my group to come after Tris. He may be right to wonder.

"What happened?" I ask, changing the subject.

"NUSA military," Amar answers shortly. "They ambushed us at a gas station." The words are eerily like Olivia's back in the bomb shelter. "We've never seen them on this route before, but they're obviously much more spread out than we thought."

Tris adds, "They were eight of them there, but given the size of this vehicle, we think they were part of a larger group." I nod, hoping there's only one vehicle's worth of soldiers in this city.

Amar looks beyond me and says, "There they are! Get them in back with you, and let's go." I turn and see two figures racing toward us from the direction I came. It occurs to me that they might attack us before realizing who we are, so I shout, "Peter! Margot! It's us!" As I repeat it, Amar joins in, and then Tris and Pari, until all four of us are chanting it in unison. I stop when the runners get close enough for me to see a smirk on Peter's face.

"Aw, a welcoming committee," he pants as he joins us. "And I thought you didn't care."

"Just get in the truck," Tris says, but I let Peter see the smile tugging at my mouth. We need to find a way to work together, and after all, humor is a better bonding agent than most. It's a starting point, anyway.

Caleb's eyes catch mine as we climb into the back of the vehicle. We've never gotten along, but he looks relieved to see me now. There's no one else in the truck with him, which means that Robert must be dead. I didn't know him well enough to feel a personal reaction, but this is another death that will haunt Tris. I grip her hand harder and pull her away from the others, toward a space that's as private as we can get. The truck starts moving as we sit.

As the bumpy motion hits us, I watch the others for a moment and realize that Caleb has gathered Peter and Margot so their backs are to us. His voice is loud as he begins explaining what happened. I frown a little, watching him. He actually seems to be trying to give me and Tris some time alone. I'm not sure what to make of that…. But I'm certainly willing to take the opportunity.

I wrap my hands around the back of her neck, running my fingers into her hair as I lean my forehead down to rest on hers. "Are you all right?" I murmur so only she can hear.

She starts to nod but then shakes her head instead. "Not really," she admits quietly. I give her time to put her thoughts into words, glad that she's talking to me about it, that she's not hiding her feelings like she did after she killed Will.

Her voice is strained as she says, "My oldest friend died today, and I didn't even notice."

I pull her to me, nestling her head in the curve between my neck and shoulder as I stroke her hair softly. "Things happen fast in battle. You can't see everything, no matter how hard you try. Don't blame yourself for being human." She nods, the movement pressing her face against me.

After a moment, she whispers, "I'm sorry I left the way I did earlier." Her voice catches, but she continues, "Even when I'm mad, I love you. You know that, right?"

My grip tightens as all the emotions from the last hour threaten to release themselves. I swallow hard, trying to hold myself together. This is no time to break down, not when we'll be back in danger within minutes. "I know," I finally say. "And I love you, too. Don't _ever_ doubt that." She nods again, and I can feel her trembling.

I pull back a little, looking into her eyes. My fingers find her cheeks, caressing her smooth skin, and then I bring my lips to hers. I intend it to be a light kiss, since the others are still nearby, even if Caleb is distracting them nicely. But she twines her fingers through my hair and kisses me back with an intensity that takes away all thought. I pull her to me hungrily, and for a long time, there's nothing in the world except her. It scares me a bit how much I want this, how much I need it.

When we finally pull apart, I say, "We stay together from now on." I'm not going through another hour like the last one. "I'll talk to Amar about it."

She doesn't have time to respond before the vehicle pulls to a stop. There's a thump on the wall that separates the driving compartment from the back, and I know it's a signal to stay quiet. Silently, we gather by the door, guns in hand, waiting. It proves to be a long wait.


	23. Chapter 23: Tris - Camouflage

**Chapter 23: Tris – Camouflage**

When the door finally opens, we find ourselves pointing our guns at Amar. He ignores them completely as he climbs rapidly into the truck.

"Are there uniforms in there?" he asks urgently, gesturing to the storage containers Caleb and I explored earlier.

"Yes," I answer quickly as Caleb leaps to open the right compartment. He hands clothing to Amar, who begins stripping right in front of us. I hastily avert my eyes.

"All of you need to change too!" he commands forcefully. "Then, swap places with one of the others." He gestures outside, and I realize others from our group must be out there. I feel my heart pounding as I wonder which of them are safe…and which aren't. But this clearly isn't the time to ask. I'll find out soon enough.

Caleb begins tossing uniforms to the rest of us, and we all change as quickly as we can. I know there isn't time to worry about who sees me, but despite that, I'm glad when Tobias positions himself between me and Peter to shield me from view.

"What's going on?" Tobias asks Amar, his voice muffled by the shirt over his head.

Amar answers curtly. "NUSA military are everywhere, so we're trying camouflage." He finishes putting his shoes back on and begins rummaging in the compartments for weapons. I debate helping him, but then Caleb starts to provide an inventory of what we found earlier, and I decide I can't wait any longer to see who's outside the truck.

I move to the doorway, looking around as I roll my pant legs up enough times to get my shoes on again. The vehicle is parked at the side of the road, partly hidden by trees. People stand guard at regular intervals around the truck, their backs to us. With relief, I recognize Christina's tall form and Cara's unmistakable posture among them. Uriah and Lauren are nowhere to be seen. I let myself hope they're guarding the front of the vehicle.

Tobias comes up beside me, and without a word, we both leap to the ground. Instinctively, I head for Christina, grabbing her arm as I step beside her. She draws me into a quick hug before racing for the truck, Cara beside her. As they move out of the way, I see Marcus' slender frame and realize that he's posted on Tobias' other side. A shudder runs through me at the sight of my boyfriend standing in his father's shadow.

Marcus' eyes pass over me, a trace of a smile curving his mouth as he sees my shudder. I tense immediately, hardening my expression. It's a bad idea to show weakness around him.

"What happened to your group?" I ask him coldly.

He glances at Tobias, who ignores him, and then back at me before he resumes looking outward. His voice is cool as he answers. "Shortly after we departed, we saw a vehicle like this one driving in Priscilla's direction." I don't know the name; presumably, she was in the SUV.

"We were able to avoid detection," he continues, "but Lauren felt it prudent to warn the other groups. Lisa and I headed after you while she and Uriah went after Priscilla." He purses his lips in distaste. "Judging by the subsequent gunfire, something went wrong, but I have no details on what."

I bite my lip, tension gripping my stomach as I think of Uriah's kind face. _Not him, too. Please not him._ I find myself shifting just a little toward Tobias, and he leans infinitesimally closer to me so we can draw strength from each other as we wait. The sun shines brightly overhead, hiding the cruelty of this day, and the only sounds are quiet movements from the people around us and the occasional activity of small animals in the trees by the road. The gunfire has stopped, at least for now. I don't know if that's good or bad.

Amar's low voice sounds behind us, making me jump. "Let's go. Everyone – in the truck, now!" He pauses and adds, "Marcus, you'll have to change as we move."

I take in the others with a quick look and realize that Marcus is the only one still in faction clothes. No one relieved him. I'm not sure if it's because they all dislike him or because he was talking with me, but I can't say it bothers me that he'll have to undress in front of everyone. After all his years of hiding behind Abnegation's cloak of privacy, there's something satisfying about literally stripping him of that protection.

Still, I don't watch as he changes his clothes, and I notice that Tobias stares determinedly at the floor the entire time. That's not really surprising; he avoids looking at Marcus even under good circumstances, and I'm sure he doesn't want to see the anger building behind those dark eyes right now. I take his hand and hold it hard. He returns the grip, pulling me against his shoulder as we bump along the road, Uriah and Lauren's faces floating in my mind.

_Please be alive._ But even if they are, I have to wonder if we can find them, or if they'll hide from us in our stolen vehicle and uniforms. They might even attack us, not realizing who we are. It's amazing that Tobias recognized us the way he did, but of course Tobias is always amazing. A surge of pride goes through me as I look at him, thinking of the number of times he's handled a situation exactly right. I can only hope that Lauren and Uriah together have half as much sense.

After a few more minutes, the vehicle pulls to a stop. There's a double-tap on the wall between the driving compartment and the back, and Margot immediately jumps to her feet in response, gathering Peter and Christina to her. I frown, watching them. Amar must have arranged for them to do something, but what? And why them? I look at Tobias and see that his mouth is set in a line, and suddenly it dawns on me. Out of the people in the back of the truck, they're the best fighters – if you exclude Tobias and me. And Amar is determined to keep us safe.

I bite my lip, uncertain if I'm willing to go along with his decision, but Tobias maintains his grip on my hand and stays solidly in his seat. He's choosing to obey, or perhaps choosing to keep me out of danger. My eyes meet Caleb's on the other side of the truck, and I see grim determination in his expression. He's probably under orders to keep me from going anywhere.

A noise of frustration comes out of me as Christina leaps from the truck, going into danger right in front of me while I stay sheltered in here. _I hate this._

"We all have jobs to do," Tobias says. I can tell from the tension in his voice that he doesn't like this any more than I do, but he stays rigidly still. "This one isn't ours, and it will only make things worse if we get in the way."

I stare at him, trying to believe him or convince him – I'm not sure which – but he stares back with his instructor face, and I finally look down, swallowing hard. I screw my eyes closed, focusing on the sounds outside the truck: loud voices and pounding feet, and then gunfire. Tobias yanks me to the floor, beneath window level, and the others dive down too, seeking as much shelter as we can get.

From where I'm lying, I lift my gun and aim it at the door, just in case. Tobias' body is half-covering mine, but he does the same thing, his arm hovering just above mine, and again the others follow our lead. Even when we're hiding, Tobias is the instructor in this group.

It seems to take forever before I hear a familiar voice. Amar is shouting, "Peter, get her other side! All of you, in, now!" I start to scramble up to get the door, but Cara is already there, and then people are piling in so quickly I can't see faces, can't tell who's safe. Tobias pushes me back to the floor as more gunshots sound, but the truck is moving now, flying so fast over the broken roads that it's impossible to stand, and everyone falls into a heap of bodies.

Behind us, I hear an explosion, followed by a screeching of tires and an incredibly loud crash. I hope that means no one is after us anymore.

"Lauren needs help," a tense male voice says, and I feel an odd mixture of panic and relief. At least Uriah is safe.

"How badly hurt is she?" That's Cara.

Lauren answers in a pained voice, "I won't be jumping on trains any time soon…."

"She was shot in the side," Christina says, and again I feel that mixture of emotions. My closest friends have survived, at least for now.

I hear shifting on the floor and see Caleb struggling to get the medical kit down from the wall while Cara makes her way toward a form. As my eyes follow her, I finally see Lauren. Her entire left side is covered with deep red liquid. It looks far worse than her light words made it sound.

Pulling myself up on my hands and knees, I join them, grasping Lauren's hand and holding it tightly. Caleb hauls the medical kit over to Cara, who is carefully peeling the shirt away from the wound. My stomach turns at the sight of the bloody hole, but I force myself to ignore the nausea. We have to stop the bleeding quickly, or the injury could easily turn fatal.

Beside me, Uriah is watching Lauren, concern etched into his features. There's a large bruise starting on the side of his head, and for the first time it occurs to me to wonder who else is injured, or didn't return. A stab of guilt goes through me. Once I realized my friends were safe, I stopped worrying, but there are others in this group too. And they're just as human as those I happen to know.

"Did we lose anyone?" I ask quietly.

There's a moment of silence, and then a voice I don't know answers, "Paul and Mona."

The guilt deepens. We were never allowed to meet them, in the goal of making sure they couldn't reveal information about us. And now we never will meet them. I think of what Caleb said about Robert, that he died alone, and I wonder if these two were lonely at the end, abandoned in the heat of battle, unknown to most of us.

Lauren groans in pain, and I focus my attention back on her. There's so much blood – too much. I try not to think of Lynn dying as I held her hand, or Marlene stepping off the roof, or Robert dead on the pavement, or Al's bloated body being pulled from the chasm…. And those aren't even the worst deaths I've seen. Suddenly, I feel far older than my sixteen years.

"We've been driving for a while," Caleb says abruptly, startling me out of my thoughts. "Aren't we going back to the van?" The comment seems out of place until I realize he wants the medical supplies we brought with us. They must be better than what the truck has available.

"No," Christina says tightly, "some of the troops found it. There's no going back to it or the SUV."

My heart sinks at her words, and I blink back tears as I stare at Cara's frantic efforts to staunch Lauren's bleeding. So far, nothing has gone right with this plan. We haven't even hit the dangerous part yet, and we've already lost three people and all of the supplies we brought with us. And we've been reduced to treating a wound like _this_ in a moving vehicle…. This entire mission is starting to look hopeless.

Margot must feel the same way, because her next words seem to be an attempt to cheer herself up. "We're better off in this thing anyway. With all the military around, we'll be less conspicuous this way." No one answers her.

* * *

Somehow, Lauren is still alive when the truck comes to a stop again. We don't know if there's a bullet left inside her or not – no one wants to try exploratory surgery in a moving vehicle – but the visible bleeding has slowed from all the pressure we've been applying, and she's still conscious.

As the truck stops, the man I don't know opens the back door, holding his gun ready while he surveys the view behind us. But the only person in sight is Amar. As before, he climbs in with us, his eyes resting on Lauren for a moment before he addresses all of us.

"Well, that certainly didn't go the way we wanted," he says grimly, "but there doesn't seem to be anyone in pursuit at this point." He sighs, running a hand up the back of his neck. "Hopefully, I can give you ten minutes to get her stable, but then we have to move again."

Cara nods, and she and Caleb immediately start working on Lauren again. I want to help but realize quickly that I'm just in the way, so I shift back to give them room.

Amar is looking at a woman I don't know; she must be the one Marcus called Priscilla. "We have very limited options right now," Amar says tightly, "so we're going to drive this thing to Pittsburgh, with all of us in it. That obviously poses problems for your part of the mission. We have no bomb and no vehicle for you…and very limited drinking water."

There's an uncomfortable silence, and then Priscilla says, "We'll have to contact the rebels there. I know a couple of people we can probably still trust, at least for a few more days, until their water supply runs out. They'll help us hit a target before then."

The man I don't know nods in agreement, his expression bitter. "We always knew it was a suicide mission. We'll find a way to take something out with us." Amar nods darkly, but the thought appalls me. There must be a better option than this.

"There are abandoned vehicles all over the place back home," I say. "There's got to be somewhere to pick up another one on the way." I look at Priscilla. "If we do that, you could go back and warn the others that this road isn't safe anymore, and you could take Lauren with you. That would be a better use of all your lives than dying for a mission that's already in shambles."

Priscilla shakes her head, a strained expression on her face. "With military all over the place, there's no way we'd make it. And stopping for a vehicle would be dangerous for all of you. We need to do what we came along to do."

I shake my head vigorously, trying to come up with an argument she'll hear, but strangely, she smiles a little. "I don't expect you to understand. You're too young, and you've never lived in NUSA. But we know what our choices are. We won't live under mind control, and we already decided long ago we were willing to die fighting back."

The man speaks up, his voice rough. "Just make it worthwhile, okay?"

"We will," Tobias says firmly, and I look at him in surprise. His gaze holds each of theirs for a moment in an expression of respect, acknowledging their sacrifice soldier to soldier. I remember how he reacted to the idea of me turning myself in to Jeanine, and I can't help but feel it's hypocritical of him to accept this action from them and not me. But I suppose I can say the same thing about myself. I was willing to die for others; how much right do I have to fight the same decision from them?

Amar's mouth pulls into a line. "Come sit up front," he says to them, "so we can figure out the details."

As they turn to go, Marcus speaks up. "What about Beatrice?" he asks Amar.

"What about her?" Tobias immediately responds, venom in his voice.

Marcus' tone is cold when he answers. "Since you obviously haven't noticed, allow me to point out that she's small and appears younger than her real age. And that uniform she is wearing is obviously far too large for her. All of that will attract unwanted attention as we attempt to blend in with an existing military structure."

Tobias opens his mouth to protest, but Marcus overrides him firmly. "I suggest we consider a different role for her."

I glare at him furiously. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

He turns his focus to me. "We need an excuse to travel toward Pittsburgh when everyone else is moving in the opposite direction. If you were to play the role of our prisoner, that would allow us to pretend that we are transporting you back to an established base. It would also give us an explanation to use for Lauren's injuries."

The words make me grit my teeth, and my first instinct is to refuse, vehemently, but the problem is he's right. I glance at Tobias and can tell he's come to the same conclusion – and that he doesn't want to agree with Marcus either. Fortunately, we don't have to.

"That's a valid point," Amar says levelly. Raising an eyebrow at me, he adds, "And it's actually a good way to get you there safely, since people rarely shoot someone who's already in custody." He looks at Caleb, probably trying to determine if we resemble each other enough to tip anyone off, but I already know we don't. After a moment, he clearly realizes that.

Turning back to me, he says, "Unless you have a major objection, you're now our prisoner."

I sigh. "Fine. But you don't have to keep my hands tied the whole time, do you?"

Amar smiles slightly. "We should be okay faking that most of the trip. Go ahead and change back into your regular clothes." He looks at Uriah and adds, "Hide the rest of the clothes. We'll probably need them later." And then he leaves with Priscilla and the man whose name I still don't know. I wonder if I'll ever learn it before he dies.

Pari climbs in with us as I rummage through the clothing we discarded earlier until I find mine. Tobias stands with his back to me, his arms crossed in front of him as I prepare to change. After a second, Uriah and Christina join him, and the three of them form a solid barrier to hide me from view.

"Thanks," I mutter to them quietly.

"You realize this goes against all my instincts," Uriah answers without looking at me. "I have a strong preference for looking _at_ pretty girls when they're undressed."

I smile at the comment, despite everything, and smile a little more when Tobias punches Uriah in the arm.

"What?" Uriah says in mock offense. "Would you prefer it if she weren't pretty?" Tobias punches him again, and Uriah turns to Christina. "Trade places with me, would you?" This time, Christina punches him. "Ow," Uriah whines. "She punches harder than you do, Four."

I grab Tobias' hand before he can respond. "I'm done."

"Good thing," Uriah complains as he walks away. "I need to maintain use of my arms." But he winks at me before he begins gathering the discarded clothing and storing it out of sight.

"We should create a false binding mechanism for your hands," Marcus tells me, "so you can make yourself appear restrained or be free at will."

"I'll do it," Tobias snarls at him. "And I'll be her guard, by the way. No one restrains her except me."

As he moves toward the compartments to search for materials, Christina whispers in my ear, "Kinky." For a moment, my face flames with heat. Then, I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I can't believe she said that, but in looking across the truck, I see the same amusement on Uriah's face, and I realize Tobias set himself up for that comment. It must be the Abnegation in him not to see it coming.

I look at Caleb automatically to see if he caught it, but he has his entire attention focused on Lauren as he and Cara work rapidly over her injury. My humor disappears instantly at the sight of her still form. She appears to be unconscious, perhaps knocked out by the pain.

"You have two minutes left," Peter tells them tensely. He's apparently been tracking the ten minutes that Amar gave them.

"We just need to stitch this up," Cara responds, her gaze intently on the wound, and I realize Caleb is holding the damaged flesh together as Cara sews it in place. The sight sends a fresh wave of nausea through me.

A warning thump sounds from the front as Cara cuts the thread. "Almost done!" she yells while Caleb begins bandaging the wound over the rough stitches.

Cara sits back with a sigh, looking exhausted. "That's the best we can do," she says to no one and everyone. "Now, we just have to wait and see if it's enough."

Peter thumps twice on the front wall, and the engine rumbles to life again. And then we're driving towards a city we were never supposed to see, in a vehicle we weren't supposed to take, without any of the supplies we needed, waiting to see if Lauren will live or not, and waiting to see what will go wrong next on this terrible, hopeless mission.


	24. Chapter 24: Tobias – Flight

**Chapter 24: Tobias – Flight**

The stress is getting worse. In Dauntless, I could work it out by shooting or using a punching bag or even just going for a walk, but I don't have those options in the back of this truck. Instead, there's just hour after hour of bouncing along a miserable road with nothing but danger ahead – and Lauren inside.

My fellow trainer has regained consciousness, but she's weak and is in significant pain. I keep expecting her to spike a fever too. Cara and Caleb clearly did their best, but there's no way that "surgery" was anywhere near sanitary enough. It's just a matter of time before infection sets in. I can't help but feel responsible, since I asked Lauren to lead that group. What's worse is the reason I did it…because I didn't want to put Marcus in charge. She shouldn't die just because I hate my father.

No one asks the obvious question, because no one wants to answer it, but what are we going to do with her? She can't fight or run like this, and she needs care that we can't provide. But there don't seem to be any options. The rebels in Pittsburgh won't be safe for long, not once they're exposed to the higher serum levels, and it's not like we can leave her in a hospital. If she gets feverish and starts talking, she could reveal far too much about Chicago, along with plenty of detail about our faces and at least some information about what we're trying to do. We can't risk that.

I rest my head in my hands, trying to come up with some alternative, some way for Lauren to live through the next week without endangering everyone else. We just need to buy enough time to finish this mission – realistically, if we're not done with it in a week, it doesn't really matter who talks. It would be too late to make a difference.

Maybe we should try Tris' idea and let Priscilla and Doug take Lauren back to the bomb shelter. They'd probably all die on the way, but at least they'd have a fighting chance, compared with if they stay with us. It seems like a kinder way to abandon my friend.

I groan in frustration, and Tris rubs a hand in calming circles on my back. It helps a little, but even her presence isn't enough right now.

At least Tris seems to have come to terms with Caleb. They've been looking at each other a lot since the battle earlier, and there's understanding in their eyes. Tris isn't talking about it yet, probably because Robert's death is too fresh in her mind, but my guess is Caleb helped her in a pretty major way. The thought makes me glad I let him come with us.

On the flip side, there's Marcus…. He's not doing anything directly, but every glimpse of him adds to the massive knot of tension growing inside me. He sits there with that smug expression, like he did us all such a favor by suggesting Tris play prisoner. And I can't even say anything about it, because it actually was a good idea. He was right about the restraints too, though I certainly wasn't about to let him participate in making them. I can't stand the thought of him being near Tris under any circumstances, let alone now. Still, I used his idea to rig a pair of handcuffs so Tris can open and close them on her own. It feels a little better having her be in control of the act.

Given my mood, it's a good thing Uriah stopped flirting with Tris. Objectively, I know he was mostly joking, and after two years of listening to him and Zeke banter back and forth that way, part of me did find it funny. But it doesn't sit well, and the more time passes, the more I dwell on one of the fears from his simulations – the one where Tris and Marlene both rejected him and Lynn clawed at his eyes for asking them out.

Zeke swayed him away from Tris after that, for my sake, and I do know Uriah is too loyal a friend to go after her now. But as I stare at Lauren's blood, my mind seeks comfort in the only place it can, and the image from Uriah's simulation gets in the way of that.

There's very little conversation during this stretch of the trip, except for Margot and Pari telling us what they know about the NUSA military, to help us act the part if we're questioned. They don't know enough to make us feel comfortable with our false identities, but their information is better than nothing.

It definitely helps us the two times we're stopped. Both times, the truck grinds to a halt, and we take our places instantly: Tris closing her cuffs and me pointing a gun at her. The soldiers follow the same pattern each time, talking with Amar and the others up front and then opening the back door and shining a flashlight around us. They don't keep us long, just enough time to exchange a few salutes and see Lauren's ashen face and bloody uniform. Then, they wave us on, clearly anxious to get their "fellow soldier" to a medical facility. Maybe there's some way to make that really happen.

As the hours wear on, I try to sleep. But the harder I try, the more it eludes me. There's too much worry and anger and guilt right now. Tris leans against me, and I stroke her soft hair and breathe her scent, but even that doesn't relax me enough to drift off. That's not good, because I'm more dangerous than I'd like right now, and rest would make a difference. But of course thinking about that just makes it worse.

The road climbs higher the longer we drive, curving around and over hills until it manages to trigger both my claustrophobia and fear of heights at the same time. I find myself clutching Tris tightly as I breathe through gritted teeth. My grip awakens her, and I can feel her looking around, presumably trying to see the danger through the dark night air.

"Sorry," I whisper. "It's just the height and being stuck inside this box for so long. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," she murmurs sleepily. "Where are we?"

"I don't know, but we must be getting closer. According to the map, Pittsburgh has a ton of hills, and we've certainly been driving through those."

"Mmm," she says, placing her face near the window to look. "I think you're right. There are definitely more lights ahead." She stretches, trying to wake up the rest of the way, and then asks, "Do you have any idea what our next steps are at this point?" The whisper is too quiet for the others to hear, if they were awake.

"Just some guesses," I say, keeping my voice low too and my lips against her ear. "I assume we're going to the local rebels first, to see if they can help Priscilla and Doug – and maybe Lauren. But I doubt we'll all meet them; it will probably just be Priscilla. Then, I assume we need to sell the jewelry we brought with us, so we have money to get the rest of the way. I don't know how far we can drive in this thing – it was camouflage on the road here, but it will probably stand out once we're deeper into NUSA. So, presumably we need to find another vehicle."

Tris nods, but she doesn't say anything, and we sit in silence for a few minutes, each thinking our own thoughts. For whatever reasons, my mind wanders to Anna's ring, and I realize that the idea of selling it bothers me. It takes me a moment to figure out why, but then the image slips into place so naturally it startles me.

If – _if_ – I ever ask Tris to marry me, that should be her wedding ring. I try to shrug the thought away; we have to survive this mission before it could even come up, and besides, I don't know if Anna would give it to us. But the thought nags at me anyway, because I suspect she would if I asked. And I know I would ask someday. And someday doesn't seem as far off as it used to.

My thoughts are interrupted by an odd pattern of light coming through the windows, and I chance a look outside. I immediately wish I hadn't. We're driving through a tunnel, the walls pressing in around us, and as I look ahead, I don't see any end to it. I close my eyes, trying to pretend I'm somewhere else, but there's a unique sound as our movement echoes in the enclosed space, and it's impossible to ignore that reminder that I'm here, inside this tube, with who knows what massed above me and nowhere to escape from it.

And it lasts forever. I've never even _heard_ of a tunnel this long.

My hands grip the seat, and I force myself to breathe, but it keeps going and going. Eventually, Tris peels the fingers of my left hand from the seat and grasps them firmly in her own, but I don't open my eyes to look. There's nothing but closeness and weight and death out there. Even through my eyelids, I can see the lights flickering as we pass beneath them, traveling what must be miles and miles. My heart pounds harder the longer we go. And then finally, when I think I can't stand it any longer, the sound changes, and Tris says, "We're out."

I open my eyes as we leave the tunnel – and drive onto a bridge high above a river.

"Oh, God," I groan, staring at the drop that's now compounding the effects of the tunnel. What kind of a city is this?

It's as if I'm frozen in place. I can't look away from the sight outside the window, no matter how much I want to. Every muscle is rigid, locked too much to even turn my head or close my eyelids.

"Tobias," Tris says firmly, but I can't move enough to face her. "Tobias!" Her voice is more insistent, and I try to listen even if I can't respond.

"You're hurting me." Those words drill through my panic, shredding the two fears I'm facing to reach one that's even worse, and my fingers spring open instantly. And suddenly I'm staring at Tris, the drop outside forgotten.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

She's rubbing her hand and shaking it out the way we always teach the initiates to do after an injury, but she smiles a little. "I'll be fine," she answers. I watch her warily, wanting to be sure she means that, but fortunately it quickly becomes clear she does. The thought provides some relief, even though we're still on the bridge, and I can still see the tunnel behind us.

I take her face in my hands and press my forehead to hers, shutting out everything except her, breathing her air and her scent. By the time we separate again, we're off the bridge. Mercifully, we're now in a flatter area, with city buildings around us, and the sharp edge of panic subsides back to the duller level of the ever-present stress as we begin meandering through side streets.

Tris and I both look out the windows now, catching our first glimpse of life inside NUSA. In some ways, it feels like we're driving through the ruined parts of Chicago, surrounded by filthy buildings and trash-strewn roads, except that people clearly live here. And not just a few people. Judging by the number of lights, and the sounds of crying and human suffering that reach us even through the walls of the vehicle, and the quantity of battered old cars lining the streets, this place is packed with more people than I can easily imagine.

A strong odor of waste and decay begins to invade the truck, and Tris scrunches her nose up in distaste. But neither of us comments on it. I suppose that's the Abnegation in us, ignoring our own discomfort in the face of others' unhappiness.

"What is that smell?" Peter asks in disgust, and I swing around quickly. Several faces are looking back at me, and I wonder how long they've been awake and if any of them saw me freeze in fear. If they did, neither Peter nor Caleb says so. The third face, though, tells a different story.

Marcus is glaring at me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth in a line – the expression he always wore just before beating me or my mother. I can practically hear his anger: furious that I showed fear to a woman, that I was weak enough to need her help.

And his attitude sends a wave of answering fury through me, because I know how he thinks. He'll believe that Tris needs to be "put in her place" after seeing my weakness, and he'll feel that if I'm not willing to do that, he will. And there is no way I will _ever_ let him do that to her.

I'm vaguely aware that the others are discussing something, but the words are just background noise. My full attention is on my father, and suddenly all the stress that has been building inside me is aimed squarely at him. No one else exists as I cross the truck in a single long step and grab his shoulders, pinning him against the wall behind him with the strength of two years' worth of Dauntless training.

"Let me be clear," I hiss into his face. "If you so much as touch her, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

For a second, his eyes are still lit with the hatred and viciousness I lived with for sixteen years, and then he masks it. He displays his public face as he asks innocently, "What are you talking about, Tobias? I haven't harmed anyone. You, on the other hand, are responsible for injuring two women very recently." And he gestures from Tris to Lauren. It's a low blow, even for him, and without thinking, I slam a hand into his throat, cutting off his ability to say anything else hurtful.

But at that moment, Uriah grabs my arm. "Four," he says tensely, "stop it!" And I can hear Zeke in his voice, can hear the friend who helped me move on from my life with Marcus to the person I am now, and it's enough. I accept the words when they come from him.

I pull back, stumbling blindly to a seat that's apart from everyone else. I need distance and movement to calm down, but neither is available, so I sit rigidly, glaring at the floor, breathing through gritted teeth.

"Don't!" I hear Peter saying, and I realize that Tris has started toward me. The idea of _Peter_ warning her is so ludicrous it almost snaps me out of my fury, but I suppose he does understand what's going through me at this particular moment, and he knows I'm far too dangerous to be approached. I wish he weren't right about that.

"I'm not afraid of Tobias," Tris snarls, but as she steps forward again, I turn my hard gaze on her, letting her see that right now is not the time for _anyone_ to get too close to me, not even her. She stares at me uncertainly, and Caleb steps between us, taking her by both arms.

"Beatrice," he says softly, "he sat by himself for a reason. Give him a little time." And just as I was willing to hear Uriah when he spoke with Zeke's voice, Tris listens to her brother. As she sits down again, I resume staring at the floor, using every calming technique I've ever learned to avoid exploding through this entire truck. But I'm still a live wire when it finally comes to a stop.


	25. Chapter 25: Tris – Crowded

**Chapter 25: Tris – Crowded**

I don't understand what's going on with Tobias. Yes, this trip has been stressful – for all of us – but that's no excuse for attacking Marcus without provocation. And as far as I can tell, there was none.

Caleb sits next to me in silence. I know he's trying to provide a comforting presence, staying quiet so I can speak or not as I choose, the way Abnegation always taught us. But since he's not the person I want to talk with right now, I don't. Instead, I alternate between glaring at the floor and watching Marcus. Something must have passed between them to make Tobias react the way he did, but it's not until Marcus' cold eyes turn to Lauren that I figure it out.

The way Marcus looks at her is familiar. It's the same way he eyed Christina back in Erudite headquarters, before he said we had to leave her behind because she was too injured to take with us. Lauren is that same type of liability now, and I'm sure Marcus will want to leave her to die, or possibly do something worse, to protect the mission. That must be what caused Tobias to react so violently.

But if so, why won't he talk to me about it? Or at least sit by me? His absence feels like a type of rejection, as if he doesn't want anything to do with me while he's thinking about Lauren. I try to push the idea away; Tobias has made it clear that he loves me, and I shouldn't waste time on unfounded jealousy, particularly when I agree with his concern. I don't want any more harm to come to Lauren. I don't.

But I don't want my boyfriend to avoid me while thinking about her, either. And as hard as I try to shove that thought away, it keeps finding its way back in. I suppose it's my own reaction to the stress.

I'm glad when the vehicle finally pulls to a stop, even if I don't know what to expect next. At least it's something different, and I can't take much more of sitting in tense silence.

As the engine cuts out, Tobias pulls his gun and aims it at me, and I belatedly remember that I'm supposed to be a prisoner. Caleb shifts a bit farther away from me as I close my cuffs and adjust the expression on my face into the sullen, defeated look they had me practice to perfection. Admittedly, it's easier to summon that look right now, with Tobias' hard eyes on me. I don't meet his gaze.

We all jump a little when Amar throws the door open and yells, "Bring the prisoner!" He points in turn at Christina and Peter and gestures them toward me. Tobias stands too, and he and Amar exchange a long look as they silently argue about whether or not he can come with us. Amar's mouth pushes down at the corners, and he turns an evaluating gaze on Marcus before finally nodding, and Tobias steps over to me. I'm relieved that he's insisting we stick together, but after my new realization, part of me worries about leaving Marcus here with Lauren.

Turning to Caleb, I whisper, "Keep Lauren safe." His eyes widen, and I know he doesn't understand why I would stress that now, but he nods anyway. As I turn to face the door of the truck, I realize how good it feels to trust my brother again.

Tobias takes my arm from behind, guiding me through the door and down to the ground as he carefully holds the gun to my head. For a few seconds, I'm still angry with him, and I almost shake his hand off, but the weapon reminds me that we have an act to maintain – and that we're in real danger. I don't want to repeat yesterday's events, facing death knowing that my last interaction with Tobias was to reject him. So, I let him hold my arm and stand closer to me than the act truly requires, and I remind myself that even if I don't like how he behaved in the last ten minutes, I do still love him.

I look around, trying to ignore the smell that is even stronger out here. We're standing on the side of a filthy road, the flickering streetlights dimly illuminating buildings that are some ten stories tall on both sides of the street. Years' worth of accumulated grime hangs from them, looking black against what was probably once a pale cement color. The street and sidewalk are even worse, with garbage, urine, and feces mixing together into piles that assault the eyes and nose equally. I try to keep my expression neutral, as if I've spent a lifetime in settings like this.

Priscilla leads us forward, and Amar takes up the rear, with Christina and Peter on the sides as we begin walking. Very shortly, it becomes clear why the street and sidewalks have become a public sewer. Dozens and dozens of small, hand-built shelters are crowded into the alleyway between the nearest two buildings, and Priscilla leads us straight into them. Everywhere I look, people are crammed into structures that don't seem like they could possibly support human life – fragile shells made of rotted wood, moldy cardboard, cloth, and the occasional sheet of metal. I hear babies crying and the sounds of coughing and sickness, as well as conversations that carry from an unknown distance. There is clearly no privacy here.

Dawn hasn't lit the sky yet, but lanterns and fires dot the shelters, providing enough light to see our way – and for others to see us. And they do, eyes peering out at us from all sides as we pass by. But whenever I return a look, the face pulls back into hiding immediately. It must be dangerous to be associated with a prisoner.

Tobias grips my arm tightly, and I know how he feels; suddenly, the living conditions of our factionless seem like paradise – at least they had plenty of empty buildings to use and had supplies provided by Abnegation. I can't imagine living like this, relying on something I cobbled together out of trash to protect me from the full brunt of winter weather. I wonder what these people eat.

Beside me, I can see Christina looking around, but she does a decent job of masking any reaction she has. On my other side, Peter looks disgusted, but no more so than usual. I shift closer to Tobias, his behavior on the truck temporarily forgotten as I seek comfort in being near him. He pulls me toward his chest, pretending he's afraid I'll escape in this chaos.

Finally, we reach the end of the alleyway, only to find that the shelters continue into the space behind the buildings. They extend almost to the doorstep of a second row of buildings that was hidden behind the first, and Priscilla leads us into one of those.

I don't know what I expect inside. Maybe that it will be like the apartments we saw in Candor, or even the ones in Erudite. But while it's certainly an improvement over the squalor outside, it can hardly be described as luxurious. We walk down hallway after hallway of grimy walls and chipped tile floors and closely-spaced doors, and then up three flights of stairs and down even more hallways. Voices sound from behind thin walls, and occasionally people scatter out of our way, their eyes wild as they stare at me.

Finally, Priscilla stops us outside an old metal door that looks loose on its hinges. She knocks loudly, the noise echoing in the corridor and startling me. It takes a second round of knocking to elicit a response, but then a man's voice calls, "Who is it?"

"Military!" Priscilla shouts in response. "Open up!" This seems like a cruel way to announce our presence, assuming we're at the door of a rebel, but there must be a reason for it.

I hear shuffling sounds from inside, and then the door opens to reveal a man who looks to be in his thirties, though it's difficult to be sure. His face is too lined and worn down by life to go with his blond hair and muscular frame. His face stays perfectly neutral as he asks, "How can we help you, officers?"

To my surprise, Priscilla answers very loudly, as if the man were standing on the other side of the room rather than two feet in front of her. "We are investigating a potential threat and believe that you might be able to help us find someone with information we need." As she speaks, she looks directly at the man and shakes her head slowly, the motion contradicting her words and tone.

"Don't worry," she continues loudly, "you are not under suspicion, nor is the person we want you to help us find. But if you can provide information, you would be doing a great service to your country." As she finishes, she raises her eyebrows as if prompting the man to answer.

He looks only at her as he responds in the same loud voice she used. "Of course we are happy to help. Please come in and ask us whatever you need."

Priscilla practically yells her answer. "First, if there is anyone else here, I must ask that they leave us alone for now. I'm sure you can understand that this investigation is sensitive. We cannot have anyone hearing our conversation without authorization."

There's a flurry of noise from the surrounding apartments, and from above and below us, and suddenly I understand why they were speaking so loudly. Everyone who is within hearing range – and is loyal to the government – must be preparing to vacate now. That will give us the privacy to discuss what we need without being overheard. Smart.

Sure enough, people begin stepping into the hallway from other doors as we follow the man into his apartment. It turns out to be nothing more than a single room, and a small one at that.

As we all cram into the room and close the door behind us, I see a woman standing against the far wall, struggling to hide her fear as she shields a young girl behind her back. I meet the wide blue eyes peering from around her leg, and I feel a stab of sympathy for all the children growing up in a world like this, and for the parents who are unable to keep them safe.

We wait in silence while the scurrying from outside gradually subsides. Most of us stay still, uncertain what to do, but Priscilla walks over to the woman and embraces her. I see tears on their cheeks as they gaze at each other for a long moment. The man looks nervously between them and the rest of us before retrieving his daughter and setting her down on the mattress on the floor, giving her something to play with. It takes me a moment to realize it's a doll made out of strips of cloth. It's probably her only toy.

Once it's clear that everyone within hearing range has evacuated, we gather into a tight circle in the small space the room affords us. The couple keep their eyes on Priscilla.

"You shouldn't have come back," the woman whispers. "We can't help you right now. We can't even help ourselves."

"I'm sorry," Priscilla murmurs, and I hear genuine regret in her tone. "But we lost three people on the way here, and our vehicle, and we have a badly injured companion. We had no choice but to seek you out."

"It's not safe to talk to us," the man says quietly but insistently. "They're broadcasting three times a day, and I don't even want to guess how high the serum levels are. We have enough water stored for a week or two, but that won't do us much good." He doesn't look at anyone as he adds, "Yesterday's broadcasts said that we all need to be good citizens and give water to anyone who looks thirsty, and to make sure they drink it."

As the words sink in, the woman asks plaintively, "How are we supposed to go out now, knowing that we could be forced to drink water at any time?" She shakes her head. "And the moment we do, we could turn ourselves in – and everyone we know." She looks at Priscilla, her eyes wide and filled with tears as she adds, "I'm scared, Scill. I've never been this scared."

"Can't you stay in here?" I find myself asking. They look at my feet, and I'm reminded of how the people in the SUV tried not to look at us so they couldn't betray us later. It seems odd now, given that we've just walked through crowds of people to get here, and suddenly I wonder why Amar exposed us like that. But then I remember how differently people reacted to me when I became Dauntless rather than Abnegation, and it occurs to me that it's human nature to see roles and body language more than faces. I doubt anyone we just passed would recognize us in a different context, or that they could describe anything except the uniforms and the fact that soldiers escorted a young female prisoner past them. The realization makes me smile a little. There's nothing quite like hiding in plain sight….

The man's eyes are still on the floor as he considers my question. Finally, he shakes his head, his voice rough as he answers. "We can't hide in here for long. We don't have enough food, and the neighbors would become suspicious, particularly after your visit. It's slightly safer to play along and hope we don't have to drink much outside of here."

The woman glances at her daughter and whispers even more quietly, "It wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for Emmy." She swallows hard and continues, "But we've screwed her over no matter what we do. When they catch us, either they'll take her too, or she'll be on her own. No one will go near a child of traitors. She'll freeze or starve…."

There's silence for a moment, and then Priscilla speaks again. "For what it's worth, we do have a plan – a good one. If she can get through the next week, there's hope for her future."

The woman's eyes hang desperately on Priscilla, and she asks, "What do you need?"

"Money, or a place to sell jewelry to get it. An inconspicuous vehicle or another way to travel east. And people to pretend to be military and to help us plant bombs. I won't lie to you – they'll probably die in the process. I understand that you can't do that, what with Emmy and all, but what about the others? They must still be safe, or they would have turned you in, right?"

The woman bites her lip, thinking. "I wouldn't guarantee it. We haven't been active in the group for a while, so if someone turned, we probably wouldn't be the ones they'd go after first."

The man lays a hand on her arm and says to Priscilla, "There are some I'd bet are still okay. We know they store water and pay attention, and they hide well. If we haven't been caught yet, I'm sure they haven't. But you can't approach them dressed like that, or they'll kill you or themselves before you get too close."

Priscilla nods. "Will you help us contact them?"

The couple exchanges another look, a thousand words passing in their gaze, and then they both nod resolutely. "Yes," the man answers. "But it will have to be now. And whoever comes with us will be exposed, so pick carefully."

They begin discussing names and locations and levels of trustworthiness, but I stop listening. I keep thinking of what Priscilla said about just needing to get through the next week, and I find my eyes drawn to the little girl. She looks like she's eight or nine, about the same age as the Divergent girl I helped in Candor – and the same age as the boy Eric shot right next to me. And suddenly I'm tired of letting soldiers and battles decide the fate of innocent children. Emmy shouldn't lose her parents, let alone her life, because they can't hide for a single week. Surely we're smart enough to find a way around that.

"What is it?" Tobias asks me abruptly, and I realize he's been watching me and can tell I'm not comfortable with the direction we're going. The others grow silent at his words, their eyes on me – except for the couple, who continue to avoid looking at my face. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to voice my thoughts.

"We're looking at this the wrong way," I finally say. "The government is _worried_ right now, and we shouldn't do anything to make them _more_ worried. That will just make them tighten their grip again, and then everyone we meet will watch us even more closely. That isn't a good thing."

Tobias nods. "What do you suggest instead?"

I sigh. "We should forget about trying to bomb anything and focus on getting some of our allies out of here. If we succeed at…what we're trying to do, then we'll need them afterwards. And if we fail, then at least they'll have a fighting chance at living somewhere else."

I rub the back of my neck and look at the woman as I continue. "You could do what we did to get here – dress anyone you want to take with you in the military uniforms and take the truck we have, but keep a couple of people as 'prisoners' and pretend they have information about Chicago. That should get you far enough out of the city to hide somewhere. Just get off the highway at a minor exit and wander until you find water, and stay there for a couple of weeks. There's some food in the truck, and you can take whatever you have, and you can eat plants and animals if you need to. It should be enough for a short time. If you stop receiving broadcasts, you'll know it's safe to come back. And if you don't…well, you'll have to decide what to do next. But it would buy you time to make that decision. It would buy Emmy time."

Dead silence greets my words, until Christina finally says, "They could take Lauren with them, and maybe that way she'll survive." I can't help glancing at Tobias as I nod. He still looks thoughtful, and maybe a little guilty, but he's nodding too.

"It will be more convincing if you have a full complement of people in the truck," he says. "Do you have enough allies for that?"

The man and woman exchange a long look, and then the man answers, "I think we could get fifteen or so. Add in your Lauren, and whoever else you want to send with us, and it would be pretty close." He sounds excited, though still scared. This is probably the first ray of hope they've felt in weeks, or maybe far longer.

I glance around the group. Peter looks like he couldn't care less what they do, but the others are clearly considering the idea. Priscilla seems the most resistant. She eyes Amar as she says, "We came along to plant the bombs. Are you telling me that isn't important now?" The words twist into my stomach as I realize what they imply – that there was no reason for two of her companions to die. That there was no reason for her to risk everything to come with us. That we've wasted their efforts and lives.

Amar shakes his head, his voice calm as he addresses her. "The situation has changed. We never expected the military to have spread out as far as they have or for the country as a whole to be as alert as they are. It would be foolish to ignore those changes and to continue with the original plan no matter what. You have an opportunity now to save lives and to create a new population of outsiders if we need it. If we fail, you could build a new Chicago. That's far more important than the bombs at this point."

Priscilla thinks about that for a long moment and then smiles a little. "Okay. What do we do?"

As they resume talking, with more enthusiasm this time though no more volume, I notice Tobias looking at me with a small smile. "What?" I ask him.

"Nothing, really," he whispers so only I can hear. "I was just wondering if maybe you have an aptitude for Amity after all."

The comment makes my lips turn up a bit at the corners. "As long as I don't have to eat the bread," I mutter. And for the first time in two days, I see a genuine grin on Tobias' face. It makes my heart lift as I re-focus on the conversation around us.

I'm not sure how long the planning continues after that, but by the time dawn arrives, we begin taking action.


	26. Chapter 26: Tobias – Pawns

**Chapter 26: Tobias – Pawns**

It's strange saying goodbye to Lauren, with everyone trying to be upbeat about our odds of all surviving and making it back to Chicago when I still doubt that will happen. Tris has given her the best possible chance, but that wound is severe.

It doesn't help that I still feel responsible for her injury, especially since if I had it to do over again, I would probably make the same decision. I just don't trust my father to be in charge, and Lauren was the logical alternative.

Even without the guilt, though, I know it would be difficult to say goodbye. I've so rarely said a farewell to anyone in my life – usually, people have simply left me, or I've left them, but there was never any discussion about it. The only exception was with Zeke, and he wasn't covered with blood at the time.

Honestly, it would have been easier to just slink off and not say anything, but when Tris kneels beside Lauren and squeezes her hand, muttering something quiet, I can already tell there's no way to avoid this. Sure enough, the others follow suit, and then all eyes are on me as I shuffle forward awkwardly.

Lauren seems to recognize my discomfort. She shakes my hand Dauntless-style and tells me it's been an honor working with me, and I try to return the sentiment. I apparently don't do a very good job, because Tris doesn't meet my eyes afterwards. Or maybe she just hates this whole situation as much as I do. We've both seen death enough times to know when it's waiting for someone, and it's never easy when you see it hovering.

The plan is to gradually swap places with the rebels we pick up, changing clothes in their apartments and letting them take our spaces in the truck. Tris, Uriah, and I are the first to be exchanged this way, and I know it's because we're picking up the safest people first, and Amar wants to expose the three of us to as little danger as possible.

After we change, we wait in the miniscule apartment for Pari and Peter to come collect us. It's an awkward wait. My eyes hang on Tris, thinking about everything we could be doing if Uriah weren't here, but even after all the times Zeke made out with someone in front of me, I'm not willing to do that to his brother. So, we sit there looking at each other, unable to say much with people on the other side of the thin walls.

Eventually, Uriah starts signing to Tris in Morse code, and I watch curiously. I was in Erudite when he taught the others, so I never had a chance to learn it, and it occurs to me now that it would be a useful thing to know. Uriah seems to realize that too, or perhaps Tris signs it to him, because after a moment they begin trying to teach me.

It's slow going, but over the two hours we spend waiting, I get the hang of some basics. I actually pick up more from Tris than from Uriah, despite the fact that he's far more familiar with it. I guess my way of thinking is just more like hers.

Finally, Pari and Peter come into the room, looking a bit worn down. But when Peter starts to sit, Pari snaps her fingers at him angrily.

"Come on," she whispers fiercely. She turns her eyes to the rest of us and adds, "I have directions to a good pawn shop."

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that the directions aren't great, or at least that they aren't effective for someone who doesn't know this city. We end up retracing our path several times to get back on track, trying to read old, dirty street signs without looking obviously out of place. It's been a very long time since I felt this lost – the last time, I was a young child trying to walk to school on my own for the first time, and I took a wrong turn. The school office reported me for being late, and my father beat me hard that night. After that, I studied maps diligently so I could always find my way, but wandering these unfamiliar streets brings the old fear back more than I care to admit.

It doesn't help that this part of the city is as bad as the rest of what we've seen, overwhelmed by a staggering level of poverty and misery. And given how everyone accepts it as normal, I suspect the whole city is like this…or maybe the whole country.

It's actually a relief when my brain finally gives up on processing the smells and starts turning a blind eye to the worst of the sights. It's harder to turn off my hearing; no matter what, I can't ignore the sound of a hand striking a sobbing woman or child, and that particular sound comes far too often here. I tense up every time, wanting nothing so much as to intervene, and I can feel Tris beside me straining with the same instinct. It takes all my self-control to remember that we can't attract attention to ourselves and to keep walking. It's a good thing Marcus isn't with us.

We've been walking for close to half an hour when the first broadcast starts. It's very similar to how we practiced, but it's surreal to see it with so many people involved. Cars stop, and people clamber out onto the road, and others emerge from their shelters to crowd onto the sidewalk, all turning the same direction, their faces blank.

My first instinct is to look around and study this phenomenon, but I force myself to respond the way I did when I awoke to find all of Dauntless sleep-walking. My face slack, I turn the same direction as everyone else and hold my body still. I don't even move my eyes, though my peripheral vision takes in the field of human statues surrounding me.

It's surprisingly difficult to stay still the entire time, with no idea when it will end, and I'm very glad we practiced as many times as we did. When Pari turns back around as if nothing happened, we all join her without hesitation, walking in silence in this city where privacy is a foreign concept.

* * *

The pawn shop smells strongly of mold. Old clothing and furniture and knick-knacks and even rolled up carpets are shoved into every available space. Most of the items are threadbare and reflect the poverty we've seen outside, but a few things indicate that perhaps not everyone in the city is as poor as the residents we've seen so far. Pari leads us to a counter, and I notice a large display of jewelry in glass cases. Presumably, it needs to be locked up to keep it from wandering away in desperate hands.

"How may I help you today?" a middle-aged man asks as he quickly crosses the store to join us. Judging by his unripped clothing and the slight layer of fat on his body, he's far better off than average in this city.

"My friend and I have some jewelry we would like to sell," Pari answers casually, indicating herself and Tris. "If you're willing to offer a fair price for it." She narrows her eyes distrustfully, acting as if she's perfectly willing to walk away if he won't pay enough. And perhaps she is, though I doubt it. We had a hard enough time finding this store.

"My pricing is always fair," the man answers haughtily, and I wonder if it was a mistake to antagonize him. "Let's see what you have."

Pari and Tris lay the jewelry out carefully, and I wince slightly as I notice Amar and George's rings among them. It feels wrong to sell those, given the risk that one member of the couple could end up surviving while the other doesn't. Tris' eyes linger on the silver bands, too, and I'm sure she's thinking the same thing.

"Price those two separately from the rest," she says, "and this one too." And she lays Anna's ring next to them. "I'm not sure we want to sell them."

The man nods, his eyes gleaming as he surveys the variety in front of him. He probably doesn't get items like this often, and it occurs to me that he may think we stole them. But if so, it must not bother him, because he doesn't say anything.

I find my eyes fixated on Anna's ring as our potential buyer evaluates each item in turn, using small instruments to assess their worth. It's not until Tris glances at me, following my gaze to the ring, that I look away. She touches my arm lightly, but I shake my head a little, not looking at her. It's just an object, I remind myself. It can be replaced. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile twitch at her mouth as she apparently guesses the reason for my hesitation.

Our interaction catches the man's attention. "Where are my manners?" he says suddenly. "You must all be thirsty." Something inside me freezes as he steps over to a large jug of water that I failed to notice earlier. _Pari can't drink that._

"Ladies first," he adds cheerily, handing Pari a glass of water and looking at her expectantly. _Shit._

"Yes, please!" Tris abruptly interrupts, drawing his eyes to her. "I'm SO thirsty. I had to walk a long way to get here, and I haven't had anything to drink all morning."

For a moment, he looks almost shocked, and then he turns to get another glass. "You mustn't forget your morning water," he exclaims, his eyes wide and focused on Tris.

"I know," she says contritely. "I didn't mean to – the walk just took longer than I expected. But it's so nice of you to offer." She begins gulping the water greedily as he continues to stare at her. Behind the man, I can see Uriah grabbing the cup from Pari and taking a couple of long swigs before handing it to Peter, who gestures pointedly at a potted plant nearby. But he drinks the rest anyway, apparently deciding that moisture on the plant could give us away.

Pari takes the empty cup back and raises it to her lips just enough to leave a drop on her mouth before she steps over to the man and hands the cup to him. "Thank you very much for that," she murmurs politely. He nods, his eyes flitting to her only briefly before returning to Tris, where they stay until she finishes draining her glass.

"Any chance I could have another one?" Tris asks plaintively, and the man smiles broadly, his suspicions apparently allayed.

"Of course." And he proceeds to give her more water and to give the rest of us a glass each, but fortunately he pays no more attention to Pari at all.

We're less fortunate in the monetary offers he makes. Anna's ring is worth more than all the other items together. Tris closes her eyes for a second, reluctance clear in her expression, and I understand exactly how she feels. But we all know there's no choice. Finally, she pulls Amar and George's rings back and lets the rest go.

I feel like something is ripping away as this stranger takes Anna's ring and places it in the glass case. _It's not even ours_ , I think firmly, but that doesn't change anything. It's still as if the future we should have had is now locked out of reach.

Pari, on the other hand, is clearly pleased with the amount of money we acquired, and she leads us almost jauntily from the store.

* * *

It takes us over an hour on foot to reach the bridge where we're supposed to meet the others. The moment I see it, I'm glad we decided to meet underneath it instead of on top. The bridge we crossed coming into the city was bad enough, but this one must be at least three times higher. The Ferris wheel Tris and I climbed could fit underneath it with plenty of room to spare.

We follow a winding road until we're in the bridge's shadow, and then we have to fight our way through thick trees and underbrush, moving slowly down a steep hill, to reach the train tracks at the bottom. As we were told, they curve as they pass under the bridge. That means any train following this line will have to slow down here, making it a good spot to climb aboard. And if our information is accurate, the four o'clock freight train goes all the way to Philadelphia.

When we finally reach our meeting spot, it's clear we're the first ones here. And for the first time since we entered this city, there are no other people around – at least not that we can see or hear. With the trees, there are no guarantees, but it's still the closest thing we've had to privacy all day. I'm inclined to take advantage of it.

I take Tris' hand as I growl at the others, "You can wait over there. I'm claiming this spot." Peter rolls his eyes, and Uriah smirks, but they move off without comment. Pari gives me a meaningful look, reminding me silently that we need to stay within sight of her in case there's another broadcast. That's a valid point, but I'm still glad when she moves a short distance away, giving me and Tris what little space she safely can.

And for the first time all day, I pull Tris into my arms. She looks almost nervous at first, but then she relaxes and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her ear over my heart as she likes to do. That position always raises mixed emotions in me, since it's how she brought me out of the simulation. It reminds me that I almost killed her, but it also makes me remember waking up to find her alive and with me when I had no hope of that ever happening again. I focus on the second part as I rest my face against the side of her head, my lips in her hair, and rock her slowly back and forth. It feels _good_ to hold her.

"I never thought I'd miss the bomb shelter," I whisper into her ear, far too quietly for anyone else to hear. Her laughter bubbles against my chest.

"It would be nice to be alone, wouldn't it?" she whispers back.

"I _always_ want to be alone with you," I murmur, and I can feel her appreciative smile against my body. I pull back far enough to find her lips, kissing her slowly and letting the heat build. My fingers slide lightly down her back, an answering shiver following them, and a little moan escapes her. It's barely audible with her mouth pressed to mine, but it's enough to stir a response inside me, one that reminds me I'm still a teenage boy who loves making his girlfriend feel this way.

When we finally pull apart, I whisper, "It's been far too long since I got to do that." She opens her mouth to respond, but then her eyes move past me and grow wide. I whirl around, seeing Pari, Uriah, and Peter all standing at attention, facing the same direction. _There's a broadcast._

Tris and I immediately play the part we should have started earlier. _How long ago did it begin? More importantly, did anyone see us not responding to it?_

When it ends, Pari glares at us viciously enough to answer the first question. We can only hope for the best on the second.

We stay with the others after that, not daring to be distracted again. We wait in near silence, moving around a little to stay warm. Occasionally, Uriah tries to break the mood with a light comment, but his eyes flit around too nervously for it to work. We get tenser the closer it gets to four o'clock. The rest of the group should be here by now.

"If they don't get here in time," Uriah asks very quietly, making sure only we can hear, "what do we do?"

"We wait for the next train," Tris answers firmly, but Pari purses her mouth in disagreement.

"No," she responds so softly I have to lean closer to hear her. "We get on that train either way. But if they don't come, we have to assume they've been captured. And that means we'll have to get off early and take a different route." The words send a chill through me.

At three forty-five, we begin walking up and down the railroad tracks, figuring out where we should start running, where we should try to board, and what the latest point is to jump on. Pari is the only one of us who has never climbed onto a moving train, so we give her pointers. She, in turn, describes the differences between a freight train and a passenger train, though I can't say our trains in Chicago sound much like either of the types she describes.

Just after four o'clock, we hear the rumbling of the engines in the distance and begin to feel the vibrations through the tracks. _Come on, Amar, you're out of time._

And then it rounds the corner, and all I can do is stare for a moment. It's more than a little impressive – taller and far more imposing than I expected. We pull back, watching as the cars begin to pass so we can see what they're like. Most of them have grab bars, but they're higher off the ground than we're used to. It will be hard for Tris to reach them at her height, even though she can jump well.

Uriah starts to run alongside the train, pulling Pari with him, but a flicker of movement on my other side catches my attention. I turn, and a rush of relief goes through me at the sight of Margot racing toward us, the others from our group behind her. They made it – barely – but only because the train is as long as our informant said. It seems to go on forever.

I glance back at the train in time to see Peter haul himself on. Uriah and Pari are already aboard. But Tris and I wait for the others. Some of them are going to need help.

Margot and Christina reach us first and immediately begin running alongside the train. I hesitate slightly, wondering if Christina's leg injury and Margot's inexperience will cause them issues, but they manage fine. I should really stop underestimating Christina.

Caleb and Cara are next, and Tris and I run with them, shouting instructions. Caleb manages the leap and turns around to haul Cara up behind him. But then we're at the end of the running space, so Tris and I circle back to the starting point. We pass Marcus on the way, but neither of us does anything to help him. He can get aboard on his own.

We line up behind Amar and a very nervous-looking Lisa. This pass, Tris makes a truly fantastic leap, hanging from a grab bar for several long seconds before swinging herself safely on board. I'm about to follow suit when I realize that Amar and Lisa have reached the end of the run and are circling back, Lisa screaming in obvious panic. I swing back with them to see if I can help.

But we don't have any luck the next run, either, or the one after that. It's a good thing the train is so long, but it gets harder with each pass, as we run out of breath and watch Lisa's fear increase more and more. She's shying away from the train so badly at this point that Amar and I have to physically haul her with us to even try. On the fifth run, we lift her between us, trying to literally throw her at the train, but she squirms away hard, and we crash into a pile on the ground.

"I can't do it," she gasps in terror, pulling away in extreme agitation, and I recognize her expression. I've seen it on the faces of enough initiates to know it's the point of no return, the apex where they've decided to accept failure as the only choice they can handle. But that's not an option right now.

"You _have_ to," I insist. "You can't stay here." But she's too panicked to hear me. And as I turn to look back at the train, I see the last car coming into sight.

"Amar!" I shout urgently, and we exchange the briefest glance before we both begin racing alongside the train. There's no choice. I haul myself on, the metal of the grab bar cold and slick in my hands, and see that Amar has managed to do the same, with no time to spare.

For just a moment, I watch Lisa standing there helplessly, and then her head whips backwards. Her body hangs in the air for a timeless stretch before she drops to the ground. It takes me another second to realize she was shot.


	27. Chapter 27: Tris – Train

**Chapter 27: Tris – Train**

I expect Tobias to climb onto the train right after me, but he doesn't. Instead, when I look back, I see that he and Amar are struggling to get Lisa on board. For a split second, I consider jumping off to help them, but I know there's not much I can do from the ground. Only two people can help her there, and Tobias and Amar are both taller and stronger than I am.

But that doesn't mean I can't help another way. I head toward the back of the train as quickly as possible, hoping that I can position myself where Lisa's trying to board and can grab her hand to pull her on.

Unfortunately, it turns out to be difficult to travel between cars on a moving freight train, particularly for someone short. The first car I have to pass is closed, and as I inch my way slowly along the outside, I realize I'll never get there in time to help at this rate. When I finally reach the end, I look around, evaluating my options, and notice a ladder that leads to the roof of the next car. It's probably much faster to move on top of the train….

I hesitate briefly, knowing that Tobias would call it an unnecessary risk, but that's mostly because he's afraid of heights. I'm not, and besides, it's not as if it's safe to be hanging from the side of these cars. Really, what have I got to lose?

The ladder is easy enough to climb, despite the bumpy motion, and then I'm on top, able to see the train stretched out before me. There's something utterly thrilling about being up here, with the wind ripping past me and the massive locomotive rumbling beneath my feet, and for a moment, I'm caught up in pure Dauntless euphoria.

I make my way to the other end of the car and realize I have two choices: I can climb down each car's ladder and up the next, or I can jump, letting the motion of the train carry it below my feet to a good landing spot. It's an Erudite versus Dauntless decision, but I don't even pause before taking the faster – and more exciting – option. It's all I can do not to crow with joy as I give myself a running start and make the first leap.

It seems to take no time at all to cover distance this way, and I quickly get back within sight of Tobias on the ground. He and Amar are now trying to swing Lisa between them, but I can see how she's resisting, and suddenly I understand the problem. She's afraid to climb on. That isn't good.

I'm very close to them when I'm forced to stop. The next few cars are flat beds with enormous piles of chopped down trees chained onto the metal beds. There's no roof to jump onto, but at least the chains should provide hand grips along the side, so I climb down the ladder and make my way carefully along the first car. I'm about to start on the second one when I notice a figure ahead, holding onto one of the chains and leaning out to the side. His back is to me, but there's no mistaking the tall, lean form and brutally short hair. Marcus. He climbed aboard before I did, but either he was more successful at moving along the sides of the cars than I was, or he crossed the roofs before I got up there. Either way, he's now between me and my goal.

I hesitate at the junction between the cars, watching him. I could just go to the other side of the car and cross on that side, avoiding him altogether, but there's something odd about the way he's positioned that catches my attention. He's staying still, keeping his arm extended…as if he's holding a gun.

I bite my lip, trying to figure out exactly what he's doing and what, if anything, I should do in response. Marcus is cruel – there's no doubt about that – but I've always observed him to stay focused when he's on a mission. That's why I let him come with us. And if he's covering the others, to protect them in case someone comes along on the ground, then I shouldn't interfere.

But some instinct tells me he isn't doing that. I look back to Tobias and the others, trying to figure out what's making me uncomfortable, just in time to see Tobias and Amar leap onto the last two cars of the train, barely making it aboard in time. My stomach twists as I realize they had to leave Lisa behind, and in that instant I know what Marcus is about to do.

"Stop!" I yell as I lunge forward, but the gunshot sounds before I can reach him. Behind him, I see Lisa crumple to the ground, and I know he didn't miss.

"What are you doing?" I shout, and when he turns toward me, I punch him hard in the jaw before he has time to react.

"She was on our team!" I scream at him in outrage.

Marcus' face contorts with fury, and he grabs my wrist in a perfect joint lock, knocking me off balance as my body drops instinctively to avoid breaking my arm. My feet scramble for a hold, and my free hand clutches at one of the chains to prevent me from falling off the train, but I can't get my wrist loose. He twists harder, sending fierce pain through me. It's difficult to breathe.

"Listen carefully, Beatrice," he spits at me. "This mission is more important than any one person. If Lisa had stayed behind, she would have endangered everything. You _know_ that."

He glares at me, twisting even harder as he leans closer. The pain is excruciating, and I'm sure my wrist is about to snap at any second. I feel as if this single point of contact has rendered the rest of my body incapable of movement, but of course that's the purpose of joint locks – they force the body to follow. I think briefly of how no one else was able to use the locks properly on me during practice, because of my small size, but it shouldn't surprise me that Marcus can. He spent decades harming those smaller than he is.

"If Tobias had done his job, I wouldn't have been forced to act," he hisses directly into my face. He's barely inches away now. "But he left her behind when he knew he couldn't. I did what he was too weak to do."

He leans down, pushing me further off balance, and I can feel blood on my other hand as the chain digs into my flesh.

"If you are wise," he says directly into my ear, "you will keep your mouth shut about this little conversation. Because you know this was necessary, don't you?" When I don't respond, he adds, "It's why you brought me along, isn't it? To do what no one else wants to do, to ensure we succeed. To keep Tobias alive despite his weaknesses." He twists one more time, and my feet slip, so I'm hanging by the hand entangled in the chain and the wrist he's holding. The pain is blinding.

"And to keep you alive despite yours," he says as he pulls me up to my feet and finally releases me. I stand there, shaking, clutching the chain with my bloody hand and hugging my throbbing wrist to my chest. My eyes are wide as I stare at him, and for the first time, I see him the way Tobias does, and I understand why Marcus stayed in his fear landscape for two years.

He gives me a small, triumphant smirk and then says quietly, as if nothing just happened, "It is time to join the others. There is a mostly empty car a little ways ahead of us. We should gather there."

He reaches a hand toward my shoulder, as if planning to help me, but I move quickly away from him, forcing my fingers to grab supports as I go despite the pain. I don't dare climb to the roof at this point, not with my hands like this, and not when I'd have to jump against the motion of the train in this direction. So, I make my way painfully along the sides of the cars until I come to one that is open and, as Marcus said, mostly empty. I clamber into it, moving to the end where there's a wall to lean against, and I stand there eyeing my torturer warily. At least from here I can use my legs to kick if I need to.

But he does nothing but look at me with that cold triumph, and it locks the fear into me even further. And with that fear comes the thought that maybe what he said is true. I let him come with us because I knew he would keep everyone focused on the mission, and I knew that would increase our odds of succeeding.

I even said it to Tobias – that I'd rather risk Marcus' life than his. Maybe I am to blame for this, for what he did to Lisa, for what he threatened to do to Lauren, for the stress he's been putting on Tobias, and even for what he did to me. Maybe it's all my fault….

As I stand there thinking, Caleb and Cara stagger into the car, and I remember they boarded just before Marcus did. Like him, they must have been making their way toward the back of the train since they climbed on. They're pale, clearly frightened by the experience of maneuvering along a moving freight train, and they sit down against the back wall in silence. I'm glad to have their company, or perhaps just glad to have witnesses to keep Marcus in check, but I don't join them. I'm not sure what I'd say right now.

Christina and Margot arrive shortly afterwards, sagging to the floor in relief as soon as they climb into the open car. I'm not sure how long they were walking, or possibly running, to reach us in time for the train, but Christina's leg has undoubtedly had quite the workout at this point. She smiles at me in greeting, and I give her a quick nod before looking out the side of the car, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery.

Less than a minute later, Tobias and Amar swing in. It's a relief to see Tobias, but I also feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. How can I explain what happened with his father? But before I can react, he makes his way over to me, pulling me into his arms and gripping me close with a mixture of emotions. He must be reacting to Lisa's death, probably all the more so because he doesn't know who caused it. I'm not sure I should tell him.

My teeth find the familiar spot on my lip, biting hard as I remember how Tobias reacted in the truck, and that was just to the threat of Marcus hurting someone, not to any actual harm. It doesn't seem safe to give him information like this, but I promised not to keep secrets anymore, and I don't want to break that promise for Marcus.

I shift awkwardly, trying to return my boyfriend's hug, but my hands are still in too much pain. Finally, I bring them to his chest, knotting them into his shirt a little as I bury my face against him. Behind him, I can hear Amar talking to the others, getting a status report of sorts and probably trying to determine who shot Lisa. I can't help but stiffen at the thought.

Tobias pulls back, looking at me with a worried expression. It's no wonder – I'm sure my body language feels completely off. But I drop my gaze to the floor, unable to face him. There's a lull where I swear the entire world goes silent, and then his hands grip my elbows, hard, and he pulls away a little farther to see me better.

"What happened?" he asks tensely, and I look up enough to see that he's staring at my swollen wrist and bloody hand. I can see bruises already forming where Marcus gripped me, the markings from his fingers clear on my pale skin.

"Who did this?" Tobias' voice is fierce, vicious, angrier than I've ever heard it, even when he yelled at Jeanine. And I know he suspects the answer.

I can't find my own voice to respond and don't even know what I would say if I could, but my eyes flit to Marcus before I can stop them. Tobias' eyes widen, and I'm sure I can hear the pounding of his heart. And then he moves. Tobias has always been fast, but when he crosses the car it's as if everyone else is frozen in place and he's the only one whose body is capable of motion.

He slams into his father, knocking him to the floor in a single blow and then pulling back just far enough to kick him hard and repeatedly. The violence roots me in place.

"I thought," he snarls as he punctuates his words with a kick, "I made it clear," and he kicks again, "what would happen," another kick, "if you harmed her." He crouches down to deliver a punch directly to Marcus' nose, his fist coming away bloody. "But I guess," he continues, his hands on his father's throat now, "you want to die!"

I'm vaguely aware of the shocked reactions of the others, of Caleb scrambling away from the commotion and Cara staring at the damage she's going to have to fix afterwards, and Peter, who just arrived, shrinking back against the wall with wide eyes. But all I can do is stare. Part of me is glad to see Marcus suffering like this, the way I was glad to hear how Tobias beat Drew for attacking me. But part of me is afraid of my boyfriend right now. I have never seen him lose control like this.

And then Amar intervenes, grabbing Tobias in the same wristlock Marcus used on me, and forcing him away from his father. "Stop it!" he says firmly.

But Tobias doesn't. He turns into the lock, using the movement to pull himself free, and does a perfect back-kick into Marcus' leg as he faces Amar. The impact is audible even over the noise of the train.

"No!" Tobias growls. "He went too far this time."

The two of them face each other, both in ready stances, as Marcus curls up in pain against the wall. And suddenly I can move again.

"Tobias!" I say firmly, walking toward him. "You did enough." His eyes lock with mine, and I can see the resistance in them. He doesn't think anything is enough to pay for this.

"Let Amar take care of it now," I plead. I can't stand the thought of Tobias fighting his former instructor, his friend, over the right to kill his father. I can't let him do this to himself. _"Please."_

"She's right," Amar states in his most solid instructor voice, his gaze boring into Tobias. " _I_ will handle this. Go."

Tobias stares for one more moment, his breathing harsh, and then he kicks Marcus a final time and stalks away. He doesn't look at me as he passes. Instead, he goes to the front of the car, away from the rest of us, and begins pacing back and forth, stopping occasionally to slam his fists into the wall. Fury radiates off him so strongly I can feel it like heat in the air.

"Let me see," Amar says softly, reaching for my hands. He turns them in his, examining them carefully. I wince as he runs his fingers over the swollen wrist to check for broken bones.

"You'll be okay," he finally says in a quiet voice. "We don't have any ice, but you can rest it against the metal wall. It's cold, so that should help a bit. And Margot should have some water to wash the cuts." He releases me, and I back away, still stunned by everything that has occurred.

"Thanks," I mutter.

He nods, and then his face goes icy as he turns his attention back to Marcus. I watch as he walks over and crouches by the bloody form on the floor, but I can't hear what he says. My eyes are still on them, so I jump a little when Christina wraps her arm around my shoulders.

"Come on," she says gently, leading me toward Cara. "Let's take care of those hands." And I go with her, not sure what else to do, feeling for the first time some of the stress and panic that have probably been running through Tobias this entire trip. I should never have let Marcus come with us.


	28. Chapter 28: Tobias – Wounds

**Chapter 28: Tobias – Wounds**

I'm too enraged to think straight. My feet pound back at forth at the end of the car as I pace like a caged animal. It seems appropriate, since I doubt I could do more than growl right now.

The space is confining, and I'm tempted to walk up and down the train instead, but I can't get myself to move that far away from Tris, not with Marcus still sitting in the same car. It's not a logical reaction – I know he won't try anything else right now, between the witnesses and how I would react – but I'm not exactly a picture of Erudite logic at the moment.

After a while, I step outside just far enough to hang from the side of the car, letting the cold wind whip at my face. It feels good, mirroring the anger churning inside me, but eventually frostbite starts to threaten, and I'm forced back inside where it's marginally warmer.

I try not to look at anyone. I certainly don't want to see my father, or the injuries he inflicted on Tris, and I have no desire to see the judgment or pity or whatever else I might find in the others' eyes. The only one who is likely to understand is Peter, but I'm afraid looking at him would just egg me on, and it was hard enough to stop myself from killing the monster who sired me as it was.

Eventually, Amar seems to decide that Marcus' presence in the car is too disruptive, because he takes my father outside, supporting him as he limps from the wounds I gave him. I don't know where they go, just that Amar returns with Uriah and Pari instead. It's a little easier to breathe after that, and gradually, other thoughts and feelings begin to creep back into my head, working their way through the anger.

The first one, as it usually is, is guilt. I picture my father's face in the truck, after he saw Tris help me through my fears and saw me squeeze her hand too hard, and I know it's no coincidence that he went after her hands today. It was his punishment for my weakness and a way of keeping me from seeking that comfort again. It was also proof that I can't protect her from him. I haven't lived with him in two years, but there's still no escape from his tyranny.

The second thought is even worse, because it shows me how deeply he hurt Tris. She didn't tell me what he did, couldn't even talk about it. Admittedly, I didn't give her much time to do that, but I know she wouldn't have said anything even if I had. She wore the same expression my mother always did, the same one I'm sure I did as we kept Marcus' secrets…because we blamed ourselves for them. That, more than anything, twists through my insides and guts me from within.

But it also propels my feet over to Tris. I still have too much energy to sit, and I'm not interested in conversing in front of the others, so I just crouch beside her, wanting to at least be near her.

"Are you ready to talk now?" she asks, her voice a little rough.

I'm not, but her tone tells me she needs me to be, and I won't say no to that.

"Yeah," I answer simply. I take her by the elbow, since I can't touch her hands without causing her pain, and help her to her feet. She winces at the movement, despite my best attempts to be gentle. It's another reminder of my failure, but I ignore it and lead her to the far corner of the car. It's not private, but I place myself between her and the others, presenting them with my back to shield us as much as possible. It's the best I can do without climbing to another car, and I won't make her do that with her injuries.

I don't know what to say, or what I expect her to say, but I'm definitely not prepared for the first words out of her mouth: "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," I answer immediately, probably too harshly.

She bites her lip, refusing to look at me. "Yes, I do," she responds quietly, barely audible over the clacking of the train along the tracks. I shift closer, my face near hers to hear her better. "I should never have let Marcus come along," she adds. "I knew what he was like."

"Tris, listen to me," I say urgently. It's important she hears this. "You can't let him get inside your head. He tries to make you think everything is your fault, that he does things like this for your own good. But he's a _liar_. Don't believe him."

She doesn't answer – just stands there breathing roughly, and I know she's fighting off tears. She so rarely cries that the sight eats into me. I take her face in my hands, pressing my forehead to hers to shut out the rest of the world as much as possible.

"He only went after you because of me," I manage to say. It's difficult to get the words out past the lump in my throat. "It had nothing to do with you or anything you did. He just wanted to punish me for being afraid in the truck."

She shakes her head a bit, and I can tell she doesn't believe me. I force myself to continue. "I thought maybe he'd listen to my warning, but I should have known better. I should have made sure you were _never_ alone with him."

She's silent again, for a long time. It's hard to decipher her tone when she finally asks, "Is that why you went after him in the truck? To warn him away from me?"

I pull back enough to see her face, looking at her blankly. "Yeah. What did you think I was doing?"

She seems flustered, looking away as she says, "I wasn't sure. Maybe defending Lauren. It seemed like Marcus was probably a threat to her."

The answer dumbfounds me, mostly because she's right. Lauren was a problem for the mission, with that wound, and Marcus has never tolerated weakness. How did I miss that?

"That…didn't occur to me," I admit reluctantly. "It should have." The thought is enough to distract me from more recent events, and I run a hand through Tris' hair as I reflect on this morning. It shouldn't surprise me by now that she was one step ahead of me, finding a way to protect others while I was oblivious to their danger.

"If she survives, it will be because of you, you know," I tell her softly. "Because of your idea."

It's a statement of admiration, but it doesn't seem to comfort Tris. Instead, she looks away again, an odd mix of guilt and frustration and something else on her face. It takes me a long time to recognize the expression, because it's so far removed from my thoughts at the moment, but finally I think I understand.

"Tris, were you… _jealous_ this morning?"

"No," she answers quickly – too quickly, and I can't help but smile. I'm usually the one with that particular concern.

"Seriously? Of Lauren? You do realize I have absolutely zero interest in her… _that_ way."

Tris is squirming a little now, her cheeks going red, and I chuckle softly. But only for a second. I shouldn't take her feelings lightly, even if part of me enjoys the reminder that she wants me just to herself.

I slide my fingers around the back of her neck, my thumbs lifting her chin to face me. My voice is firm when I say, "I should clarify that. I have no interest in _anyone_ except you, Tris." Her eyes finally find mine, and I hold her gaze, making sure she believes me. And then I hold it longer, because as her embarrassment eases, her strength starts to return, and I have always loved seeing that energy in her eyes.

"Tris," I murmur, "I can't even imagine wanting someone else when I have you."

A fierceness blazes in her eyes in response to that statement, and it draws everything in me to her. I'm not even aware of closing the inches between us. I only know that my lips find hers, my right hand curling into her hair as my left hand slides down her back, pressing her to me. It feels as if there's static everywhere we're touching, electricity charging through our bodies and making every part of me aware of her proximity. We kiss as intensely as we did the first time I told her I loved her, on another train, in front of some of the same people, what feels like a lifetime ago.

It's not until she tries to run her hands up my back that reality returns to us. I can feel her wince of pain echoing through me, and I pull back with a fresh surge of anger toward Marcus. But at least there's no longer any weakness in Tris' eyes. He hurt her physically, but he couldn't cow her spirit for long.

"Come on," she tells me firmly, "let's join the others. There's something we all need to discuss."

I nod, following her without question to the opposite end of the car. To my relief, Marcus is still wherever Amar took him, but the others are sitting closely together. It's not until Tris and I join them that I realize why they're so close – the floor and walls of the train car are icy cold. I immediately pull Tris against me to share our warmth.

As everyone's attention shifts to Tris, she says without preamble, "Marcus shot Lisa." A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold runs through me.

Silence greets the statement, and then Margot asks, "Why?" It's a simple question, but there's an edge to it that I don't like.

"Because she didn't get on the train," Tris answers levelly. "He said we couldn't leave her behind."

"He was right," Margot responds without hesitation. "She'd have gotten us all killed."

"No, she wouldn't," Tris snaps. "She wouldn't have given us up willingly, and she was Divergent, so she was resistant to the serum."

Amar sighs, running a hand through his hair, and I know what he's going to say before he does.

"Resistant enough to drink the water, but that's not the same as being captured." Tris glares at him, but he continues in the same tone. "During questioning, they implant a receiver directly in your brain and give you a stronger and stronger dose of the serum until you respond, or get brain damage, or die. If you're quick on your feet, you can play along and pretend it's affecting you before it does. That can buy you some time until you're rescued. But there would have been no one to rescue Lisa. She would have betrayed us or died, or probably both, since they usually kill people after questioning."

His eyes move from Tris to me and then back as he adds, "It was a mercy to shoot her quickly, and if Marcus hadn't done it, I would have."

I'm not sure what to think of that. In theory, I agree, but in reality...I don't know if I could do it. Tris is obviously struggling with the thought, too, because her body is rigid in my arms, and she practically shouts, "So we're supposed to just _kill_ anyone who's caught, or left behind?" She looks around the group, at the few friends and one family member she has left, and adds, "Without even attempting a rescue?"

"No," Amar answers in obvious frustration. "It depends on the circumstances. You and Four… _Tobias_ , and Uriah and Peter are all beyond any level of resistance we've ever seen before. If you're captured, no one is going to shoot you. And with everyone else, if we can manage a fast rescue, we certainly should. But if we can't…. The bottom line is that we can't let this mission fail just so one person can survive a few more hours. There are far too many lives at stake for that."

His eyes rest on Tris, waiting for her to respond, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she starts trembling. It's faint, but I can feel the movement against me, and I understand why it's happening. She's had to make exactly that decision before, when she shot Will. His death allowed her mission to succeed, saving hundreds of Abnegation and freeing Dauntless from mind control.

Amar is asking for the same thing now, but the problem is that Tris has been second-guessing that moment ever since. She won't agree with him easily, and pushing her won't help. If anything, it's likely to increase her resistance to the idea.

I hold her more tightly as I snap, "We get the point." Amar looks at me, his eyes narrowing a bit, but he takes the hint and moves onto other topics of conversation. Sometimes, I realize, it's good for people to have a little Amity in them after all.

* * *

The conversation is subdued after that, and eventually Amar breaks out some sandwiches he apparently bought earlier. They're wilted and stale, but they fill the empty pits in our stomachs, so we eat anyway. I share mine with Tris, taking a bite and then offering the sandwich to her in turn, to make it less obvious that I'm helping her eat. She needs to rest her hands, after all, but I know she hates to accept help at least as much as I do.

As darkness sets in, she and I move away from the others, finding a semi-private spot to sit. I pull her close to me, my hands working their way under her coat as I snuggle my face into her hair, breathing her scent. If I could pick one smell to always have with me for the rest of my life, it would be her unique fragrance. I remember reading about pheromones in school, and it occurs to me that maybe the group that started our city manipulated those too, so Divergents would be attracted to each other. But if so, I really don't care – I enjoy the effect too much to complain.

We're just starting to doze off when the next broadcast starts. Even though it's nighttime and we're on a moving train, we all stand when Pari and Margot do, following their lead in the dim light. It's good practice. Besides, if we didn't, there's always the chance that someone might spot us in a passing light and get suspicious.

Somewhat to my surprise, the train continues to move through the broadcast. I suppose it takes too long to stop it and restart it, so the driver must simply leave it to its own momentum during the few minutes the message lasts. That's not very reassuring as we follow a curve in the tracks, and I find myself wondering how many people die every day because they're in the middle of some uninterruptible activity at the time a message starts. Or maybe there's enough time between the warning and the actual message to avoid that problem. It's hard to tell without being able to hear either one.

As we round the curve, I notice Pari and Margot both shifting their stance so they continue to face the original direction, as if some internal compass is guiding them, and we all follow suit. It starts a thought forming at the back of my head, but I can't quite make it cohesive yet.

When the message stops, we all sit back down. At least we can talk about it this time, in the seclusion of the train.

"What did they say?" I ask.

"The same as before," Pari answers shortly. "They reiterated the importance of staying well hydrated, and that everyone should share water with others who might be thirsty. And they said it's crucial to report anyone who acts suspicious, since 'there could be spies among us.' And of course they had the typical message about how wonderful the government is, and how lucky we are to live here, and how we should trust them above all else." She sounds thoroughly disgusted.

"We seemed to be facing a little different direction than the last two times," Caleb says. "How often does it change directions?"

Pari and Margot consider that for a moment. "In Philadelphia, it changed a lot," Margot answers. "But it seemed to be more consistent elsewhere."

Pari's voice is puzzled as she says, "It seemed pretty consistent in Philly, too. The broadcasts were usually in the evening, when I was home, and I remember always facing the same spot on the wall."

"Really?" Margot responds curiously. "It seemed like it was a different direction every day to me, but maybe I was just having difficulty getting my bearings. I was working a delivery job at the time, so I was all over the place, and I didn't always know which way was which."

The thought clicks from the back of my mind at the same time Tris sits up straighter. But it's Caleb who speaks.

"Is it possible you're always facing a fixed location, and it only seems like a different direction based on where you are?"

"What he means," Tris asks with obvious excitement in her voice, "is could you be facing the Control Computer that's broadcasting the message?"

There's a moment of dead silence, and then Margot speaks, her tone reflecting the energy emanating from the rest of us. "Yes, that makes sense. I never really thought about it, but I was always facing the tall buildings in the center of the city, no matter where I was. And everywhere else, we faced toward Philadelphia."

Even in the darkness, I can see Pari nodding in agreement, her eyes lit.

And for the first time on this entire trip, I see a ray of hope. We have a way to find the Control Computer.


	29. Chapter 29: Tris – A New City

**Chapter 29: Tris – A New City**

We spend the next part of the trip in darkness, discussing how to use the broadcasts to find the Control Computer. As Anna told us, the rebels have already narrowed its location down to two buildings, so the first step is to determine which of those is the right one – assuming either is. Beyond that, we're hoping to figure out which floor the computer is on, or at least to get a general sense of where within the building it is. In a skyscraper, we'll never find it without that kind of starting point.

"I doubt the computer does the actual broadcasting," Tobias tells us. "It's more likely that it sends a signal to some type of projection equipment. So, we'll need to find the projector first and then trace it back to the computer."

"But wouldn't there be more than one projector?" I ask. "It seems like they'd need one for each direction they broadcast in, unless the equipment can project in all directions at once."

"No," Cara says thoughtfully, "that's very difficult to do. It's more likely they have four or more projectors that each cover a range. They probably also have boosters or re-broadcasters located around the country, to transmit the signal to more remote locations. It would be hard to reach the entire population from one set of projectors."

There's silence for a moment while we try to translate Cara's words into a course of action.

"But the projectors in Philadelphia would all be in the same building, right?" Uriah finally asks a bit timidly.

"Very probably," Cara answers. "It would make sense to rely on physical cables to connect the computer to the projectors. That would prevent the signal from being hacked."

I feel Tobias' nod against my hair. "That should help us locate the computer," he states. "The cabling would be a pain for something like that, so they probably put the computer right in the middle to make it easier. That means if we can locate several projectors, we'll have a pretty good idea where the computer is."

Christina laughs, though she doesn't sound amused. "So…instead of looking for one computer, we're looking for multiple projectors? That doesn't seem easier."

I chew my lip, thinking about that. "Would the projectors be visible from outside the building?" I finally ask. "Like on the roof or mounted on outside walls?"

"Maybe," Cara answers, "but there's no way to know for certain since we're not familiar with this technology. We'll have to see where everyone looks during the broadcasts and hope there's something discernible."

"What do we do if there isn't?" Uriah asks, sounding concerned now. "I mean, we only have two people who can hear the broadcasts. And we all have to stay within sight of one or the other of them, right? That means we can only look at two spots during each broadcast. It could take _days_ to find multiple projectors."

There's a pause, and then Christina says in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "Chicago doesn't have that much time."

There's silence as we all realize she's right.

"We'll have to split up," I state flatly. I can feel Tobias' arms tighten around me in the darkness, but I continue anyway. "We'll get a lot more information if we have the building surrounded during each broadcast. Plus, we'll be less noticeable if we're wandering around as individuals or couples instead of in a big group."

Pari sounds annoyed as she responds. "Normally, I'd agree, but not if you two are going to draw attention again."

Peter smirks, drawling, "Don't worry – I'm sure they won't start making out and miss a broadcast. **_Again._** "

"Say what?" Amar asks in a somewhat strangled tone, and I wince. Apparently, no one told him about this afternoon. I don't want to admit our mistake, particularly in the middle of the current conversation, but I'd rather it come from me than Peter. I'm just opening my mouth to speak when Tobias does it for me.

"Tris and I missed the first part of a broadcast," he says reluctantly. "We were…distracted at the time."

Amar groans. "Damn it, Four, you know better than that! You could have gotten the whole lot of you killed!"

"I know," Tobias says heavily, and I can feel the stiffness in every limb of his body as he shifts slightly away from me. He doesn't like disappointing Amar. "It was a very private area, and no one noticed, but it was foolish. It won't happen again."

Amar makes a frustrated sound. "No, it won't, because you two are going to have to stay apart tomorrow." I start to protest, but he continues in a louder tone, "We can't let your lack of self-control put everyone at risk!"

The words make anger boil up inside me, but there's nowhere to aim it except at myself, because he's right. If anyone else had made the same mistake we did, I'd be furious with them. I can't ask for more leniency than I'd give the others.

I don't answer out loud, but I nod. Tobias is still close enough to feel the movement. His hands grip my arms for a second – whether in frustration or agreement I can't tell – and then he speaks just loudly enough for Amar to hear.

"Okay. We'll go in whatever groups you designate."

I hate hearing the defeat in his voice.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of Margot and Pari arguing. They're not being overly loud, but they're nearby, and with my wrist already throbbing, the noise is enough to rouse me.

It's still too dark to see well and too cold for me to want to leave Tobias' warmth, so I sit quietly and listen.

"Oh, come on," Pari is saying in annoyance, "he's not going to help the whole group just because you used to screw him."

"No, but if I can get in, then I can let the rest of you in later," Margot counters. "It's safer than going to your sister."

"The hell it is! You don't even know if he's resistant. At least Tammy is. I only got out because of her."

"Which makes her even riskier right now!" Margot snaps. But then she continues in a more resigned tone. "You know it does."

"That's a fair point," Amar says softly, and I realize he's awake too. "We need to avoid everyone who knows why you left."

Pari lets out a frustrated sigh. "And that doesn't include her ex-boyfriend?"

"We broke up before I left," Margot snarls. "He has no idea I'm resistant."

"Did _anyone_ in Philadelphia know about that trait?" Amar asks reasonably. "Because if one person went to the police, they would have questioned everyone you knew there, right?"

" _No one_ in Philly knew," Margot insists. "I didn't find anyone like-minded until I moved to Pittsburgh."

Pari is clearly still angry as she retorts, "But those 'like-minded' people knew where you came from, didn't they? And one of them could have turned you in, so the same rule applies. We can't trust him."

"I never said anything about _trusting_ him," Margot responds caustically. "But he's still our safest choice. Think about it – we just put everyone I knew in Pittsburgh onto a truck and sent them out of the city. Even if they get caught, it'll take time to trace me back to Philly, and even longer to connect me to Simon. There's no way he knows at this point, or is being watched. We have _days_ , at least, before that could happen."

"That's probably true," Amar says, "but we've had a lot of assumptions go wrong lately, so I'd prefer to avoid the risk. And we do have money. Isn't there a place we could rent?"

"We don't have enough for anywhere private," Margot says dismissively. "Besides, hotel staff are always on the alert. That's probably the most dangerous place we could stay." In the dim light, I can see her running an aggravated hand through her hair. "I'm telling you, Simon is our best bet. He'd be the only person in the building, and if I distract him, the rest of you would be able to plan without any danger of being overheard."

"He might not even work there anymore, you know," Pari comments, but her tone is less hostile and more thoughtful now. "Or they might have increased the security. It's been almost two years since you left – anything could have changed."

"I highly doubt it," Margot answers. "The owner's cheap and doesn't like change. It's probably exactly the same."

"Hmm," Amar grunts. "The privacy aspect is appealing, but I still don't like the overall idea." He's silent for a moment, thinking through the risks and options. "Are there any abandoned buildings we could break into, as an alternative? They could have the same advantage."

"Yes, because no one ever thinks to live in those!" Margot answers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Somewhat unnecessarily, she adds, "They're even more crowded than the camps."

"All right…." Amar says with a long sigh. "It was worth asking. I guess we don't have much choice. But you need to think about what will happen if things go wrong. Are you willing to shoot him if it comes down to that?"

"I thought about killing him a few times before we broke up," Margot mutters, but it's clear she's not serious, and the others don't say anything in response. Finally, she adds something that's too quiet for me to hear. It must be an affirmative answer, though, because they begin discussing logistics in detail. Their voices are more subdued now, and without the ability to hear what they're saying, I gradually drift back to sleep.

* * *

Pari's voice wakes me again sometime later, but this time she's deliberately rousing us. It seems we're getting close to Philadelphia.

"We need to jump off before we get to the station," she tells us. "The railroad doesn't like people hitching rides, and trust me, we don't want to get caught."

Amar leaves to retrieve Marcus from the other car while the rest of us finish waking up and collect our few belongings. I don't have anything to gather, and if I did, Tobias probably wouldn't let me hold it right now anyway, so I just watch the landscape we're passing.

At first, it's mostly dark – presumably, this stretch is sparsely populated. But then I notice a series of large, flat buildings barely visible along the crest of a distant hill. They're well lit in a way that nothing in Pittsburgh was, with grand front entrances and curving driveways that are outlined by lights. An old word from school comes to mind: mansions. If I had to guess, I'd say those buildings are home to NUSA's small wealthy population. I watch quietly, wondering how many of the people we saw crowded into hand-built shelters could live comfortably inside each of those palaces.

There's more darkness after the mansions, as if the wealthy don't want other people living too close, and then we begin to see a city that's more like Pittsburgh – but far larger. Lights flicker all around us as we pass through an enormous swath of low-lying buildings that are surrounded by hand-built shelters. It seems endless, and judging by the stench that's carried to us on the wind, living conditions here are no better than what we walked through this morning.

The scale is amazing. The train slows down more and more the farther we travel into the city, but it seems to keep going forever. If we moved at this speed through the parts of Chicago that are still inhabited, we'd have reached the other side long ago, but instead it's clear we're still on the outskirts of Philadelphia. I think back to the map in Anna's office, remembering that this city was much bigger than the others in NUSA, but there was no way I could grasp what that really meant at the time. Now, I begin to get a sense of it.

The train is practically crawling along at this point, and I realize that by Dauntless measures it shouldn't be hard to jump off. That's good, since I can't grip anything as I launch myself, and I certainly don't want to scrape my hands on the ground if I don't land well. Even the thought of that makes my stomach churn and causes pain to radiate from my wrist.

As if reading my mind, Tobias moves up beside me and takes hold of my arm. I hate relying on other people, but I give him a smile anyway, knowing that I really could use the help – and that I'd much rather receive it from him than anyone else. I suppose that's part of love: wanting to take care of each other, and letting the other do that for you.

"Get ready," Pari calls. I glance at her, and my muscles immediately tense as I spot Marcus between her and Tobias. I didn't notice when he and Amar joined us, but they're now getting ready to jump too. I'm determined to show Marcus that he doesn't intimidate me, so I stare at him coldly, evaluating his condition. He seems wobbly on his legs, and his nose is crooked – it's clearly broken. The sight brings a very non-Abnegation-like smile to my face. I make sure Marcus sees it before I turn back to the edge of the car.

"Just ahead," Pari says, and I begin scanning for a good landing spot. But it's all cement. We're passing through what looks like an industrial area, with well-lit sprawling buildings and roads and walkways that cover every inch of ground. It's virtually deserted – it must be closed at night, and clearly people aren't allowed to set up shelters here.

"Go!" Margot calls, and I prepare to spring, but Tobias holds me in place.

"On three," he tells me solidly. "One, two, three!" And we leap, his hand keeping an iron grip on my arm as we land, running forward a few steps to regain our balance. Neither of us stumbles.

We turn back in time to see Christina leaping with Pari, and I'm relieved to see the others already on the ground. At least there was no repeat of what happened to Lisa.

Tobias keeps his hand on me for another moment as we walk toward the others, but then he gives a final squeeze and lets go. I know it's a concession to Amar, so I try not to feel it as abandonment.

As we join the rest of the group, Christina steps beside me, taking my arm casually. Her eyes move between Tobias and Amar before she gives me a grin. "Hopefully it was a good kiss," she whispers, and I give her a small smile in return. At least she's not mad at me.

Margot takes the lead, and we begin walking. Now that we're on the ground again, with potential listeners all around, we stay quiet, following her through the web of cement and out to the street beyond.

It's a long walk through the night. We pass more people than I thought the world held, and it's difficult to tell our progress because the buildings and shelters look very much alike from one block to the next. But gradually the buildings get taller, so I assume we're not moving in circles.

Eventually, we come to a bridge over a wide river. It's not nearly as high as the ones in Pittsburgh, but it's still tall enough that it must bother Tobias. If so, he hides the fear well, marching along without hesitation. But I suppose that's Tobias – strong when he needs to be no matter how difficult it is for him. I twitch my fingers automatically, wanting to hold his hand, but the flash of pain reminds me I couldn't even if I were allowed to right now.

The farther we walk into the city, the more people we see out on the streets instead of huddled in shelters. Clearly, Philadelphia has an active nightlife. There must be more variation in wealth here, too, because people are milling in and out of buildings with food and drink in hand. But the Abnegation in me notices that others watch hungrily from the shadows, stepping forward quickly to grab anything that's discarded by the revelers. And my stomach twists to see how many of those watchers are children.

Margot leads us through a network of streets that get gradually cleaner but also emptier. This must be a business section, and as with the industrial area, it's well lit and free of shelters. We see a handful of people, but it's clear they're just passing through on their way to somewhere else.

Margot waits until no one is in sight and then takes us into an alley that runs along the back of the buildings. She finds a secluded spot and whispers, "Wait here." Then, to my surprise, she takes Christina's arm and pulls her over to Amar. They have a short, whispered conversation, during which they point at one of the closest buildings. Finally, Margot and Christina head to the building. Margot's ex-boyfriend must work there, I realize, presumably as a security guard or something along those lines. I can see why it's an appealing place for us to stay; it's certainly much more private than the shelters. But I wonder why she's taking Christina with her.

We wait a long time. I've decided that something must have gone wrong and am about to suggest that we mount a rescue when Amar finally gestures us forward. We move along the back of the building to a door that's barely visible from the alley. Christina is waiting at it with her finger on her lips to keep us silent.

She leads us into the dark interior, and I'm reminded of my first day in Dauntless as I stumble along without being able to see where I place my feet. But unlike then, Tobias moves close to me and takes my arm, feeling the way for both of us. Despite our current circumstances, I find myself smiling a little, remembering how I watched him that day – and every day afterwards. At the time, I never would have guessed we'd end up like this.

Eventually, Christina stops. "Watch your eyes," she says, and even though I'm sure she's whispering, her voice sounds loud after our quiet walk. "I'm going to turn on the lights," she adds. I shield my eyes – at least my hands are still good for that – and see brightness flicker on.

We're standing in one of the strangest spaces I've ever seen. Pipes hang from the ceiling and walls, surrounding us in a maze, and pieces of large equipment are scattered among them, connected to them and each other. The floor is cement, covered with years' worth of dust and smeared dirt that emanate a musty smell. Still, it's far cleaner and more private than most of this city.

"Margot said we need to stay here until exactly five-thirty," Christina tells us, "and then go back out the way we came in. She'll make sure Simon is distracted then." She looks around, and Amar nods to confirm his understanding.

Christina continues, "She said we'd be safe here because there's nothing worth stealing in this part of the building, so there are no cameras. We can use the bathroom down the hall – take a left out the door, and it's halfway down. But we're not supposed to go any farther than that. And when we leave, we have to move quickly. Everyone understand?"

We all nod or make small affirmative sounds.

"How did she get you down here?" I ask curiously.

Christina looks hesitant as she says, "She brought me in as her friend, and we both talked with Simon for a while. Then, she asked him if I could sleep somewhere else so they could be alone, and he agreed to let her show me to this room." She looks away as she adds, "She gave me instructions and went back to keep him busy so he wouldn't see me let you in." Her eyes drop to the floor, and it's clear she's not comfortable with something that happened or was said.

I bite my lip, watching her, and suddenly I realize just how Margot is planning to keep Simon occupied. Bile rises in my throat at the thought, and for whatever reasons my eyes find Tobias. His face wears the same expression of distaste that I'm sure is on mine. But neither of us says anything. What is there to say, really? Margot made her own choice, and I suppose there are worse things than sleeping with your ex to free the entire country. Still, it feels deeply wrong, like taking something that should be sweet and loving and turning it into…I don't know what. Something I hope I never feel.

"All right," Amar says calmly to the group. "We'll take turns on guard duty. Peter, you're first. Everyone else, try to get some sleep."

"Come on," I say quietly to Christina. "That corner looks good." She nods and walks with me to an area that looks as comfortable as any, and we sit on the hard floor. Tobias joins me, staying on my other side to avoid disrupting Christina, and Uriah sits nearby. At least it's warm in here, warm enough to fall asleep. And we do, because tomorrow – or I suppose it's today now – will be a long day.

  
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	30. Chapter 30: Tobias – Stymied

**Chapter 30: Tobias – Stymied**

I swear this day will never end. We've spent an eternity trudging around the two glass skyscrapers that might house the Control Computer, walking up and down various streets so we can stay close enough to see without drawing attention. When we were in Pittsburgh, it felt like the broadcasts came frequently, but that must have been because we were busy. Today, it's as if time stops completely while we wait for them.

And the slowness makes it difficult to maintain the expression I practiced in the van, so long ago. I keep finding myself standing too straight, or looking around too boldly, and I have to work at appearing downtrodden again.

Occasionally, we pass the other group at an intersection, as they move along a different path than ours. We don't acknowledge each other, because it could make strangers notice us, but it's always a relief to see that they're still safe. I try not to let my eyes linger on Tris.

Over the course of the day, my father's stiff walk gives way to outright limping, and Pari slows our pace to accommodate him. I'm not sure how I feel about seeing him this way – _weak_ – and knowing it's because of what I did to him. He deserved it, I tell myself, and I know it's true. But whenever his eyes move past me, refusing to acknowledge my presence, I can't help remembering all the times my mother and I avoided his gaze the day after he beat us. It makes me feel far too much like him.

I suppose this day would be worthwhile if we were at least gathering good information, but it just doesn't seem that way. Even after the third broadcast, I personally still have no idea where the Control Computer is. I can only hope one of the others had better luck, or that we'll have some success once we combine our observations.

* * *

It's well after dark when we head back to the place we slept last night. As we did before, the rest of us stay hidden until Margot and Christina are able to get us inside. We don't talk as we wait, but it's obvious from everyone's body language that frustration levels are running high. They get even worse once we're back in the basement room and it becomes obvious we don't even agree on which building has the Control Computer.

"The first broadcast was definitely coming from the southern building," Tris insists. "We were on 17th Street, right between the two buildings at the time, and that's the direction everyone turned."

"I don't know what to tell you," Cara responds. "We were on 17th too, but we were right by the southern building at the time, and everyone turned toward the northern one. Are you _sure_ you got the direction right?"

" _Yes_ ," Christina says in exasperation. "How dumb do you think we are?"

Before Cara can answer the gibe, Caleb speaks up. "What about the next broadcast? What did you observe that time, Beatrice?"

"We were on Chestnut, and people seemed to be looking at the southern building," she answers, but then her voice turns a bit reluctant as she adds, "but the other building was directly behind it from that position, so I can't be sure."

"Could they have projectors on both buildings?" Uriah asks, and my mouth twitches just a little at his attempt to find a middle ground that lets everyone be right. His Amity is showing.

Cara begins, "Theoretically, they certainly could, but it would be a lot of extra work for no real gain…." And then her voice peters out at the look on Caleb's face. He's wearing the same expression I see on Tris so often when she _gets_ something that no one else has thought of yet.

"They have to cover the whole area," Caleb says enthusiastically. "If all of the projectors point outward from the same building, then there'd be a dead spot in the middle of the building that didn't receive any signal. And if each projection is broadcast as a cone that emanates from the projector, they couldn't cover the full space around the building either. It can't be done from just one location."

"Of course!" Cara responds, her face lighting up in understanding. "They'd have to place one projector elsewhere and point it toward the missed areas."

For just a moment, they beam at each other, and then they turn somber again. "But which building is which?" Cara asks.

"That's the hard part…" Caleb mutters. "There's no way to tell from up close, since each building receives a signal from the other one. We saw that today."

There's a long silence, and then Uriah says hesitantly, "So, we need to observe from farther away?"

"Yes," Cara and Caleb answer simultaneously.

But Tris seems less certain. "How do we know how far away we need to be?" she asks. "It could take multiple broadcasts just to make sure we have the right building. And then we'll still need to narrow down the floor, which gets harder the farther away we are…." Her voice trails off in frustration. She's right. It will be difficult to get a clear line of sight from a distance, and without that, we can't possibly determine which floor we need. On top of that, the farther away we are, the harder it is to know that we're looking at exactly the right angle. After all, our only guide is trying to match our head position to everyone else's, and that's hardly precise.

I sigh. "We'll be lucky to narrow it down to a range of fifteen floors."

"We need receivers," Tris says abruptly. The response doesn't seem related to what I said, but she continues anyway. "We all need to be able to hear the broadcasts, so we can split up more and can pinpoint the location better."

The others nod slowly, thinking about that argument, but Tris' eyes meet mine, and I realize there's something else too. Something she didn't say because the Abnegation in her doesn't want to make Pari feel bad….

"Are you thinking we'll be able to sense the signal better?" I ask her, gesturing between her, Uriah, and me. "Because we can also send it?" I remember how easily she was able to control the computer back in the bomb shelter, and I think she might be on to something.

Tris nods. "I don't know for certain," she replies, "but it seems possible that if we can control the signal much better than most people can, we should be able to receive it better too. Like with the simulations. We're not just aware that we're in one – we can manipulate it too." She pauses, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck. "Maybe resistance, awareness, and control are all different aspects of the same ability."

"I think you're right," Caleb says somewhat timidly. He turns to me for a moment before looking at Amar and continuing in a quiet voice, "When I listened to Tobias'…broadcast, I was very aware of where he was. I felt like I was right there with him. It stands to reason that Beatrice and Tobias would be even better at it than I was. They should have no trouble locating the projectors, or maybe even seeing from the perspective of the person at the Control Computer."

Amar nods slowly, but my eyes move automatically to Tris. I never told her about the memory I shared with Caleb back in the bomb shelter, and it's obvious by her expression that he didn't either – and that she feels this counts as keeping a secret. A weight drops into my stomach at the thought. She's right, of course, but I have absolutely no desire to discuss it now. I look at her levelly, trying to convey with my eyes that I'll tell her later. Someday.

Amar's voice interrupts our silent dialogue. Looking at Pari, he asks, "If we were to try Tris' idea, where would we get receivers?"

Pari runs her hands up her face, grimacing. She clearly doesn't like this idea. "They're in the mandatory vaccinations, to make sure every kid gets a few of them. So, I guess…a pediatrician's office."

"Are there a lot of those around?" Tris asks. It's a fair question given how little care the people of NUSA seem to receive.

"How would I know?" Pari responds. "I haven't been to one in ages." She sighs. "But I'm sure there are some near the hospital. It's a couple of miles from here if you want to check it out."

Amar debates that for a bit. "Yeah, we probably should. I assume it'll be easier to break in at night, and that way we'll have the receivers for tomorrow's first broadcast."

Peter snorts, and we all turn to him in mild surprise. "You're nuts," he says, shaking his head. "Breaking into an unknown place at night is just stupid. Particularly when we have a better option."

He's clearly enjoying having everyone's attention, and I can't help but growl, "If you have another idea, spit it out."

"Gee," he drawls, "if only we had an excuse to visit a pediatrician's office…. You know, like if someone who looks like she's twelve had a visible injury." His eyes move to Tris' hands like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"She does _not_ look like she's twelve," I snap automatically. I hate it when people act like Tris is a child. She's _far_ from it.

"That's not what it felt like to me," Peter smirks. Then his eyes widen as he realizes what just came out of his Candor mouth. But his realization comes too late. I'm back in my apartment in Dauntless, Tris' battered form lying on my bed as she tells me that Peter _touched_ her. And the blind fury I felt then washes over me.

I launch myself at Peter without thinking, grabbing for him as he tries to hide behind Amar. Every part of me wants to hurt him the way he hurt her, wants to make him finally pay for everything he did to her that day.

But Amar blocks my way, as he did when I lost it with Marcus on the train. I'm a good fighter – I know that – but at moments like this I don't think I will ever reach Amar's level. He blocks me with absurd ease, pulling me into a joint lock that I can't escape no matter how hard I try, and then he drags me across the room, away from the others.

"What the hell is going on with you?!" he shouts at me. "Have you lost all control over yourself?"

"He deserves it," I hiss, but Amar just glares at me, forcing me to explain. Somehow, I manage to get the words out. "He attacked Tris during initiation."

"Yes, I know," Amar responds with deadly calm. "Christina said that when she introduced us, remember? But he also _saved_ Tris' life, right? And somehow you've managed to work together this long, so you need to suck it up and deal with him. You can't just fly off the deep end because of something he _says_. Save it for things he _does_."

I stare at him, my mouth working soundlessly with the arguments I want to shout…need to shout. But then I hear scuffling behind him, and my eyes go to the sight, and suddenly I'm grinning in fierce triumph. Christina and Uriah are facing off against Peter, anger radiating from them as they inflict the punishment I dearly wanted to. Tris must not have told them about that particular aspect of what Peter did to her, and they clearly aren't reacting well to the news.

Amar turns to them too, and his jaw actually drops open as he sees the fight. But before he can say anything, Tris shouts.

"Stop it!" She walks over to the three of them as if she's planning to physically intervene. Apparently, she's forgotten about her injuries. "I don't need you to defend me. I'm not helpless, and I'm _not_ a little kid!" Her eyes are flashing with fury, and they draw my attention like nothing else can. I'm not sure she's ever looked stronger than she does in that moment.

"But," she continues, her voice low, "I will _act_ like a kid for this, because Peter's right." The words are clearly distasteful in her mouth. "It's much safer than breaking in with no prior reconnaissance."

Christina and Uriah stare at her for a long moment before they reluctantly back away from Peter. She, on the other hand, walks right up to him, glaring up at his face without a trace of fear. "But just so we're clear," she hisses at him, "you only succeeded that day because there were three of you. If you ever try something like that again, I _will_ kill you. And I'll do it even with my hands like this."

For another long moment, their eyes remain locked, and then Peter looks away. Something that's almost like regret passes over his face before he makes his expression scornful again. "Yeah, I'm worried," he mutters, but he doesn't look at her again.

Tris turns to Pari and asks calmly, "So, what is a pediatrician's office like around here?"

* * *

The consensus is that Tris will be vague about how she received her injuries, something that Pari says is unlikely to draw attention in this country where abuse is common. It will apparently also be easy for Tris to request her twelve-year tetanus shot while she's there, given the slices on her palm. The rebels believe that shot contains a receiver like all the other immunizations do, so at a minimum Tris should have a receiver in her bloodstream by the end of the day. That alone should help us tremendously.

If the opportunity presents itself, Tris will steal vaccines for the rest of us, but only if she can do so with very little risk. Amar emphasizes that repeatedly, and Tris keeps agreeing to it, but the idea still worries me. Tris has never been a good judge of her own danger.

"Seriously, don't take a chance on it," Amar stresses. "It may be enough for you to have a receiver, and if not, at least we'll know what the office looks like and will be in a much better position to break in if we need to. But if you get caught, we don't gain any of that."

"I _know_ ," Tris says in aggravation, clearly tired of repeating herself. Her eyes find mine as she adds, "I won't take any unnecessary risks." When I nod, Amar finally seems to accept her answer and moves on.

The biggest debate ends up being about who should go with her.

"No way," Amar tells me flatly. "You're too out of control these days." The words sting, particularly since they might be true. But it stings even more when Caleb tries to help.

"You're not really a good choice anyway," he says quietly. "If we're trying to make her seem younger, she shouldn't have a boyfriend with her. Besides, your hands are the same size as your father's." I look at the finger marks on my girlfriend's wrist and feel sick at the idea that people could think _I_ did that.

Caleb continues, "I'm the only one of us who's related to her, so I should go. It will look less suspicious if she's with family."

"That would be true if you looked remotely like her," Christina says, "but you don't. And if she's going to be with someone who looks different, it should be someone Dauntless. At least we know how to handle it if something goes wrong."

"I can take care of myself," Tris responds in annoyance, but Christina just arches an eyebrow at her.

"You didn't let me climb between buildings when my leg was bad," she says reasonably. "How is this any different?" It's clear Tris has no answer for that.

"I disagree that it should be someone Dauntless," Cara comments. "Caleb and I can spot the vaccines more easily than you can, and we know what questions to ask to make sure Tris gets the tetanus shot. I think that Erudite background would be useful. And out of this group, I probably look the most like Tris." She laughs lightly at the idea, as if she doesn't like the thought, but as I look around at the dark skin and hair that dominate our group, I realize she's right. She and Tris at least have similar coloring even if their features are different.

"Tris has as much aptitude for Erudite as you do," Uriah says bluntly. "I'm sure she can get to the vaccines just fine. We need someone Dauntless enough to handle what goes wrong and Amity enough to make people _want_ to help us." He smiles, clearly promoting himself for the job, and then adds, "Besides, I think we look plenty alike. It's the dazzling beauty thing."

Christina rolls her eyes, but I comment firmly, "Yes, I can see that."

"Enough discussion," Amar states flatly. "It will be me and Pari. I'm old enough to act like Tris' step-father, and Pari and I look enough alike for her to play my daughter. It's the closest to a family unit we can get, and it gives us one person who can hear the broadcasts." He looks levelly at Uriah and adds, "And you're not the only Dauntless-Amity mix here." Uriah opens his mouth to protest but then closes it. There really isn't a counter-argument to that statement.

* * *

We're all tired by the time the details have been worked out. I'm glad, because it means Tris doesn't question me about Caleb's earlier confession. And while I know I shouldn't keep that secret longer, I also don't want to relive my girlfriend's death in my dreams tonight, and that would undoubtedly be a side effect of discussing that particular memory right before going to sleep. So, I don't say anything as I pull her against me and hold her close, and she doesn't either as she rests her head on my chest to listen to my heartbeat.

Despite my weariness, it takes me a long time to fall asleep. My mind keeps playing through everything that could go wrong tomorrow, and I hate the thought that I won't even be nearby to intervene if needed. It feels too much like falling asleep the night Tris slipped off to Erudite. And despite my silence about what I showed Caleb, that's what I dream about, over and over throughout the night. I'm glad when morning finally comes.


	31. Chapter 31: Tris – Doctor's Office

**Chapter 31: Tris – Doctor's Office**

Strangely, the waiting room smells better than most of the city, even with so many screaming babies and frazzled parents packed into it. I suppose the underlying odor of bleach reduces the effect of dirty diapers mixed with body odor.

The receptionist informs us that the tetanus shot will be free, as all immunizations are. I manage not to smile visibly at the statement, but it confirms that the rebels are right. There must be a receiver in the vaccine or it wouldn't be free – the NUSA government doesn't seem to fund anything that doesn't benefit them directly.

As if to emphasize that, Amar has to pay up front for the other care my injuries will require. As I watch the cash change hands, I'm tempted to say I can do without treatment, but the receptionist makes it clear that's the only way I can see a doctor today.

While we wait, Amar keeps fingering his wedding ring, and George's matching one on his other hand. I know what he's thinking – we'll have to sell them to afford food if we can't wrap things up within the next couple of days. I hope it doesn't come to that.

But judging by how long we wait, it might. Dozens and dozens of children are called to the back and emerge again later while we sit. At some point, everyone stands for the first broadcast of the day, and we follow along dutifully. And then we wait some more.

When the nurse _finally_ calls me into the back area, Amar and Pari come with me as if it's assumed they should. The nurse hesitates briefly, but we all act confident that we're supposed to stay together, and he quickly accepts their presence. It reminds me that confidence goes a long way in convincing people.

The examination room isn't much different than the ones I sat in every year as a child. A pang goes through me as I sit on the table and look at my fake family in the plastic chairs. My mother and Caleb were always with me growing up. Perhaps it's just as well my brother didn't come with me today; I don't think I could have handled that strong a reminder of Mom.

The nurse asks me a few questions before saying the doctor will be in soon. But "soon" seems to be a lie, because we end up waiting again. It's not as long this time as in the waiting room, but it's long enough to remind me how cold doctors' offices always are. At least I didn't have to change into a flimsy gown this time.

When the doctor finally comes in, she's clearly rushed. She asks a few brusque questions without really listening to the answers and then examines my wrist briefly – and not very gently – before concluding I have a minor sprain. She spends a little longer evaluating the cuts and bruises on my other hand.

"When was your last tetanus shot?" she asks, peering closely at me as if trying to determine my age.

"She's almost due for her twelve-year shot," Amar answers calmly, and the doctor nods.

"Well, let's go ahead and give you that today, then," she responds with the closest thing to a smile she's shown so far. "We certainly wouldn't want you getting lockjaw, now would we?"

I shake my head, trying my best to look like a somewhat frightened pre-teen.

After she leaves, the nurse comes back in to clean and bandage my cuts and to wrap my other wrist tightly. I have to admit it feels better that way. Then, he leads us to another room for my shot. That's encouraging, because it presumably means all the immunizations are stored together, and with three of us here, our odds of being able to steal some just improved dramatically.

We're certainly not the only ones in the room. We wait while several babies and small children receive their immunizations, each screaming loudly afterwards. Amar and Pari gradually make their way closer to the cabinet where the shots are stored, keeping their movements casual to avoid suspicion. By the time they're standing near it, I know what I need to do: create a distraction when I'm on the table.

The little girl in front of me jumps into her mother's arms, sobbing from the pain of the injection, and the nurse who's administering the shots looks at me. "You're next," she says in a cheery tone.

I wait for her to get the supplies from the cabinet and then glance at Amar to make sure he's ready. He nods very slightly, and I begin….

"I really hate shots," I say in my best panicked tone, eyeing the needle as if it's a vicious animal that's ready to bite me.

"Don't worry," the nurse reassures me. "This won't hurt a bit."

I rub my injured hand on my leg as if in agitation, taking the opportunity to pinch myself hard. An appropriate level of tears spring to my eyes.

"That's what they always say," I exclaim loudly, "but it does hurt! It hurts a lot!"

"Oh relax," the nurse says, her tone somewhat irritated now. "A big girl like you can certainly handle this."

But I shake my head vigorously. "Noooo," I wail loudly. "I can't I can't I can't!" And I begin flailing around, moving my arms and legs wildly. Everyone within sight is now staring at me, their expressions ranging from disdain to outright fear that I'll hit them with my movements. I'm careful not to look at Amar or Pari, so no one else will follow my gaze. This is their chance, and they'd better be taking it.

"Stop that!" the nurse snaps at me. "This is much better than lockjaw, you know." But I continue my act.

"That's enough," Amar says firmly, walking over to me, and I know they must have succeeded in getting the immunizations. "You knew you were getting a shot today. Now, sit still!" His voice is menacing, and I make myself look afraid of him as I freeze my limbs into place. The nurse seizes the opportunity to give me the shot, which in truth I don't even feel after all the serums I've had injected into me over the last few months.

"There. You're done," she says in a disgusted tone as she slaps a band-aid over the injection site, and I leap down, practically running from the room. Amar and Pari follow me, making our escape while we can. So far, it's gone far better than we could have hoped. We just have to get out of the building now….

We're stepping into the waiting room when the broadcast alert rings through me. The receivers must start working immediately, because I hear it at the same moment Pari does, and I turn toward it along with everyone else in the room.

And then the actual broadcast starts. It's a strange sensation, an awareness that goes beyond hearing or vision – more like a dream, some combination of images and concepts placed directly into my mind. And there are layers to it, different levels of detail ready to be observed by anyone who can sift through them. Somehow, I know how to do it, just as I knew how to control the computer back in the bomb shelter. In fact, it's almost laughably easy.

I dig into the deeper levels of detail and realize I can sense everything that the controller is seeing and thinking as he projects his message, even things that aren't part of the message itself. I'm sure he isn't intentionally transmitting those, but I take full advantage of them.

It takes less than a minute for me to gain a clear mental image of what the room with the Control Computer looks like, and where it's located within the floor of the building. Unfortunately, Dan Miter – as I now know his name is – isn't thinking about the rest of the building, so I can't determine which building he's in or what the floor number is. But that doesn't worry me. I know with absolutely certainty that I can figure that out in the next broadcast; I just need a clear line of sight to the building to get it.

I almost smile in triumph before remembering to keep my expression neutral. The broadcast is still going, after all.

I don't shift my eyes, but I focus on my peripheral vision to see if anyone noticed my slight change of expression. No one is looking at me, but a movement flickers in the lower part of my vision, and I turn my attention to it. What I see causes ice to drop into my stomach.

A baby is playing on the counter by the receptionist's desk, clearly oblivious to the broadcast. Its mother must have set it there while checking in with the receptionist, but she's now frozen, listening to the signal while her child nears the edge of a dangerous drop.

I stand still, hoping against hope that the baby will stop, but it's so close to the edge, and it keeps moving. I'm within arm's reach. All I need to do is move one hand, just enough to block the infant from likely death. Would anyone notice? Surely not, as wrapped up in the signal as they are….

Three more inches, then two, and then the baby's hand crosses the edge and it starts to teeter, and I can't stop myself. I keep the movement as subtle as possible, moving my arm up to form a barrier. And then I freeze like that. Hopefully, when everyone returns to reality, they'll think I was in that position the whole time.

The baby presses against me, cooing as it grabs my injured fingers in that tight grip that only infants seem to be able to form. It hurts, but I keep my expression unchanged. And then the broadcast finally ends.

I look down at the child, blinking as if I'm not sure what just happened or how this baby ended up holding my hand.

"My, you're a friendly little thing, aren't you?" I say in my best sing-song voice, trying to shift attention from myself.

The baby's mother looks over, surprised, and reaches to retrieve her child.

"Yes, he is," she comments as she pries his fingers loose. "I'm sorry if he bothered you."

"Oh, it's no problem," I say with a smile. "I like babies." The mom smiles back at me.

Amar places a hand on my shoulder, saying calmly, "It's time to go now, sweetheart." I give a final smile to the infant's mother and turn around.

We've walked three steps when I hear the voice of a young child. "She kept that baby from falling, Mommy." We keep going, pretending not to notice, but the voice is suddenly louder as it adds, "She did that during quiet time!"

It takes four more steps before people begin to approach me, their hands reaching out to stop me as they hiss words that I know don't belong to them.

"She's dangerous."

"Call the police."

"Come with me, miss."

Their eyes are too blank, and for a moment, all I can think of is the way Will looked under the simulation. It makes my chest hurt. I don't want to harm these people when they're not in control of their own actions.

"Grab her arms."

"Don't let her leave!"

For a split second, my eyes meet Amar's, and my mind clears at the look of controlled fear I see reflected there. It's a lesson from my second faction, how to act in spite of fear. And this is definitely a time to be Dauntless.

My hands are too injured to do much, but the rest of my body works just fine. I drill my shoulder into the stomach of the man in front of me, causing him to fall backwards with a resounding "Oomph!"

Beside me, Amar grabs a woman's arm and uses it to swing her into the stream of people approaching from one side, temporarily blocking them. As he does it, a man approaches him from behind, but Amar performs a back kick with more power than I ever thought possible, sending the man sprawling into the people on that side.

I aim a kick of my own at another figure, a woman this time, as Pari snaps into action. And the three of us fight our way out of the crowded waiting room and into the hallway that connects the pediatrician's office to the hospital.

We race down the hallway, winding our way through people as we head for the nearest exit, but loud voices and pounding feet sound behind us. I'm sure someone has also called the police, and who knows what other alarm systems they have here? It won't be long before they catch us.

My eyes roam wildly, looking for a way out or a place to hide. I remember slipping into an abandoned building after we escaped from Erudite headquarters, letting the search pass by us while we waited under the stairway. But nothing like that presents itself here.

We flee down another hallway, and then Amar grabs my arm abruptly, shoving me through a door to the right and into a stairwell. He must have seen some marker I missed. We descend rapidly, our footsteps bouncing chaotically off the metal and cement. And then we're racing through an underground parking garage to another stairway and up to street level and out into the air. I hadn't realized how long we were inside, but night apparently fell at some point while we were in the doctor's office. I'm glad for the cover it provides as we run full-out toward safety.

My breathing is too hard for me to hear anything else at this point, but I don't stop. Instead, I lengthen my stride, stretching my legs until every muscle hurts. Despite that, I still have to run two steps for each one of Amar's, with his longer legs.

We zip through alleyways. We're still in the business area, so there are no shelters here, and the space is relatively deserted. Finally, we reach a spot where no one else is in sight, and Amar drags me to a walk. I force my breathing to slow down as we round the corner, managing to walk in a non-conspicuous manner. No one seems to be taking notice of us here, though I don't dare look around enough to make sure. _Did we outrun our pursuers?_

After another couple of streets, Amar leads me into a different alleyway. This one is also deserted, and he pushes me against a wall, leaning close so he can whisper into my ear without being overheard.

"Take these." He pushes something against my side, and I realize he's handing me the immunization materials. A twinge of pain goes through my fingers as I grab them, but I ignore it, taking the supplies and shoving them into an inside pocket on my coat.

"Find the others," Amar whispers. "I need to go back for Pari."

My stomach leaps into my throat as I jerk back, staring around wildly. How did I not notice she wasn't with us anymore? Where did we lose her? But Amar pushes me against the wall again, using his body to hide me from sight and to ensure we're not heard.

"Listen to me," he says, his lips right on my ear in a manner that only Tobias' have been before. "I have to keep her from being questioned." My insides twist, knowing what he means. In my mind, I see Lisa's body falling backwards, and I know I traded Pari's life for that baby's.

"I shouldn't have done it," I moan.

"No," Amar states flatly. "But I can't blame you. It was a baby, for God's sake." I can hear the agony in his tone, and for a fleeting second I wonder what he would have done if he'd been standing where I was. Maybe the same thing I did.

"I need you to focus," he says. "Get _that_ to the others and find out where _it_ is tonight," he whispers, avoiding nouns just in case we're somehow overheard. "If I don't return, you have to act tonight. I will do everything possible to stop her from talking, but I may be caught in the process." My muscles tense at the thought, but he continues relentlessly. "Hopefully, that won't happen, but if it does…I know from my testing that I can buy you some time, probably twelve hours. But you have to finish by six o'clock in the morning or you may not get another chance. Understand?"

He waits until I nod, the movement causing my head to brush against his. I feel his hands twisting, and he presses something else into my injured fingers. Something small and round. A ring.

"If I don't make it back, give that to George. And tell him I love him."

I swallow hard. "I will," I whisper back. And then he walks away, fast, in the direction we came. I close my eyes for just a second, pulling strength into me from somewhere for what I need to do, and then I move toward where I know the others are. There's no time to lose.


	32. Chapter 32: Tobias – Location

**Chapter 32: Tobias – Location**

Part of me feels like Tris has gone to Erudite. I know it's an overreaction, but I can't seem to clear the comparison from my head. All I can think is that she's out of my sight and beyond my reach if she needs help, and she's potentially in danger. And the worry eats at me more and more the longer the day stretches on.

It would be better if we had something interesting to do – anything to distract me – but instead we walk as we did yesterday. We're all in one group, since we only have Margot to guide us today, and we trudge along streets that are farther away from the buildings, but other than that, it's exactly the same as yesterday. And just as frustrating.

My father is walking more normally now, apparently having healed some overnight. I guess he slept better than I did. That shouldn't surprise me; he's had plenty of experience sleeping soundly regardless of what happened during the day. I, on the other hand, can't even remember the last time I got a full night's sleep…. I guess it was back in Dauntless, months ago, before I found the war plans. Before initiation began. Before I found out Eric would be overseeing the training. Before I began worrying about Uriah showing his Divergence. Before thoughts of Tris kept me awake until the early hours of the morning, only to be followed by nightmares about what might happen to her. Before the war and everything that has happened since. Before this mission that has left me facing my only four fears at every conceivable moment. It's been a _very_ long time….

I move my gaze away from Marcus, trying to shift my train of thought. It's hard enough to deal with him on a good day. Right now, it's beyond foolish to dwell on him.

I'm not sure it's an improvement when my eyes fall on Peter. He's been keeping his distance from me and Uriah and Christina today, watching us warily. Realistically, he doesn't need to worry. Tris had the final word in last night's discussion, and we won't act against him right now, not without new provocation. But I certainly don't bother to tell him that, and I notice that Uriah and Christina don't either. I guess we're all willing to let him squirm a little longer.

We use our dwindling cash to buy lunch from a street vendor, and we eat on a sidewalk that's within sight of both of the buildings we're watching. The food is stale and virtually tasteless, and I'm too worried to want to eat anyway, but I force most of it down. My body needs something to help it run, and if I can't give it sleep or freedom from stress or any type of emotional reassurance, I have to at least give it calories. But finally my stomach rebels, and I give the rest to a small child who watches us hungrily. She runs away with it like she can't believe her luck, and suddenly I feel guilty for eating as much as I did.

The first two broadcasts of the day come and go, and the sun slowly sets, and there's still no sign of Tris or the others. In a way, the darkness is useful, since it hides my increasing agitation. I'm practically twitching, and I can't help looking around, hoping that maybe Tris is within sight after all, and I somehow just missed her. I can feel my father's eyes on me in growing disapproval; yesterday, he wouldn't even look at me, but today he feels comfortable judging me again. I guess he didn't need much recovery time for that.

And then she's finally here, approaching us as fast as she can without drawing attention, her expression carefully neutral. For a second, I'm filled with nothing but relief, and then I realize she's alone. Something must have gone wrong.

I approach her as casually as I can manage, imitating the way I've seen people greet their friends over the last two days. She does the same, but as our eyes lock, I can see the anxiety in hers. Still, it's worry – not outright panic. Whatever is happening, we don't need to run right now. So, I pull her into the protective circle of my arms and hold her against me as I press my cheek to hers. My lips brush her ear, and I can hear her breathing against mine.

"What happened?" I whisper so softly no one else could possibly hear. I keep my eyes on the people around us just in case the next broadcast starts. I won't repeat that mistake.

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "Later," she exhales against me. "Right now, you and Uriah need this." I feel her opening her coat and fumbling for something, and I slide my hand along the back of hers, following her fingers until I find the vaccine and needles hidden inside a pocket. I'm still pressed to her, my body shielding against prying eyes as I transfer the supplies into my coat.

"Give any extra to the others," Tris adds as I complete the action. "And hurry."

"Okay," I whisper, stepping away from her reluctantly, letting my fingers slide along her side as I pull back. Then, I return to the rest of our group, grabbing Uriah's arm without comment and pulling him toward the nearest public men's room. We can't talk privately there, but we'll have the visual cover we need.

There's a short wait for a stall, and I gesture Uriah into it while I wait for the stall next to his. I don't waste any time, injecting myself quickly and then handing the supplies under the partition to Uriah. He takes them without hesitation. He doesn't hand them back, so I assume he's hiding the remainder in his coat now.

Tris is waiting with the others when we return, and I go straight to her, letting Uriah pass the materials on to the next person.

Her outward expression is still calm – she puts on a good act when she needs to. I lean close again, giving her the opportunity to fill me in on what happened. As our bodies touch, I can feel her trembling slightly.

"We need a place to talk," she whispers, "after the broadcast. We have to take action tonight." She doesn't offer any details, but cold understanding sinks into me at her words. There are multiple reasons Tris might have returned alone, but only one explains why we need to act so quickly. Pari or Amar has been captured, or maybe both. But even as I think about it, I know it must be Amar. If it were Pari, it would already be too late to complete our plan – she can't stand up to questioning.

Tris is looking at me, whether seeking comfort or offering it I don't know, because I can't meet her gaze right now. My mind is focused on Amar – my friend and former instructor. But that description isn't enough. He gave me my Dauntless name and helped me to forge a path for myself in an unwelcoming faction, a path that reshaped my life into something better than what I left. He's the only real role model I've ever had, and I know I wouldn't be the person I am now without him. And I already had to mourn him once.

Unbidden, the thought comes that the last time we talked, we literally fought. He held me back from Peter and said I was out of control. He didn't even trust me to go with them today. _I don't want that to be the last moment I ever spend with him._

I'm vaguely aware that Tris steps away from me and whispers to some of the others. When she returns, she indicates that we should move away from them. I don't respond, but I do walk with her, my hands in fists and my eyes unseeing.

My breathing is too fast, and I can't seem to slow it. I want to go after Amar, want to find some way to rescue him, want to do anything but walk calmly around the same damned buildings over and over. But I force myself to march robotically forward, the way I did when I pretended to be under the simulation, invading Abnegation with horror racing through my mind.

Tris walks silently beside me. I know this must be killing her as much as it is me, but I have no reassurance to offer her. I can't stop my own dark spiral of thoughts, let alone change hers.

At least _she's_ safe, I try to tell myself, but I know that's a lie. There's no safety right now, with the NUSA government sinking its claws into Amar. And that thought leads to even worse ones – images of what Amar said on the train…his body being flooded with serum until he gives in or suffers brain damage or dies...his laughing eyes slowly glazing over.

Yesterday, it felt like time stopped as we waited for a broadcast. Today, I swear it moves backwards. Every moment is an eternity that's taking us farther and farther away from where we need to be, farther and farther away from any chance of rescuing Amar.

Just when I'm sure I can't take the wait any longer, the next transmission finally begins. It's clear in my head, a combination of words and images, and I wonder for a split second how similar it is to what Caleb felt when I sent him my broadcast in the bomb shelter. But the thought passes as Tris and I turn toward the northern building in unison, our movements effortlessly matching the crowd's.

And suddenly I can _see_ where the projector is. More than that, though, I can sense where the person controlling it is. It's almost like a map forms in my mind, diagramming the floor of the building where he sits. I even know his name – Dan Miter – and what he looks like, or at least how he sees himself. And I can almost glimpse the others who work with him. I reach deeper, seeking out the images, and they grow clearer. By the end of the broadcast, I know the names and appearances of three people who work there – and more importantly, I know exactly where they work, exactly where the Control Computer is.

I feel like the knowledge should give me some sense of pleasure, or at least a fierce triumph. But all that fills me is grim determination. We're going into danger yet again, racing to finish our mission before my friend's suffering ends one way or another. There's no relief in that.

* * *

It's a huge risk going back to our nighttime spot. We still don't know if Pari was questioned or not, but if she was, that location is far from safe. But we need somewhere to plan, and there's nowhere else private. So we approach cautiously – and from a different direction than the last couple of nights. Everything is quiet as we get closer, and Margot and Christina slip ahead to scout it out while the rest of us hide well back.

I'm hyper-alert as we wait, my hand closed on the gun that's hidden under my coat. But I don't take it out. If anyone comes by, it's a toss-up if it will be a passing civilian or someone looking for us.

Beside me, I can feel Tris' agitation in her tense movements and rigid posture. I wish it were safe enough for me to comfort her, but right now, that type of distraction wouldn't help any of us. So, I force myself to ignore her presence and focus on the rest of the world. It's a hard wait.

Christina eventually returns alone and leads us quietly into the building. She shows no sign of alarm, so I can only assume that everything is still the same as last night, with Margot "distracting" Simon and no one else here.

Every time we've gone down the dark stairs before, I held Tris' arm, but tonight I don't dare. If it turns out that Margot and Christina missed something, we'll be much too vulnerable here. So, I take my gun out and hold it ready as I descend first, making sure Tris is shielded behind me. To my left, I can tell that Uriah is doing the same thing. We did this when we invaded Erudite, too, keeping each other safe while protecting the rest of our squad.

Fortunately, we don't encounter anything. The place is dark and silent, with emptiness echoing through it. I've been in enough deserted buildings over the years to recognize the lonely feeling they have. Right now, it's a comforting sensation.

The moment we're in our secluded basement room, Tris begins.

"We were…noticed…just before we left the doctor's office," she says. Her tone is evasive, but I let her continue. "We had to run, and Pari got separated from us. We have to assume she was captured."

Tris pauses briefly, clearly struggling with the next part. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. "Amar went back for her. He said he'd do everything he could to keep her from being questioned, and he said that if he's captured, he can buy us twelve hours. But that means we have to finish everything by six in the morning. And that's assuming Pari didn't talk."

There's silence for a moment, and then Marcus breaks it. "He must have succeeded in stopping her, or there would already be military here. We should assume that she is dead and that Amar is a prisoner." I see Tris wince at the statement, but my father continues without pause. "We must focus on moving forward." His eyes turn briefly to me and then back to Tris, his expression hard. "What did you learn from the broadcasts?"

I answer immediately, to give Tris time to collect her thoughts. "The Control Computer is in the northern building, on the eighteenth floor. It's in a room near the southwest corner, well away from the elevator. The usual controller is named Dan Miter, and his assistants are Samantha Taylor and Michael Beamer. I know what they look like, and I can definitely find my way to the room and use the equipment."

Tris' face is still anxious, but she nods in confirmation, and I can tell she gathered the same information. Uriah, on the other hand, looks at me with wide eyes. He clearly didn't collect nearly as much data. A quick glance at the others shows they're in the same boat – except maybe Peter. It's always hard to read him.

"There are two security guards by the elevator, and two more outside the room itself," Tris says, beginning to focus again. "Dan wasn't thinking about the stairs, so I don't know if they're guarded or not, or even if they're locked." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "There are also guards in the lobby, but it was hard to sense how many. I'd guess four." She looks at me for corroboration, but I can only shrug. I didn't get that particular detail.

Marcus narrows his eyes, looking at me like I just failed the whole group. There's a trace of contempt in his voice as he says, "Were either of you able to determine if that's the daytime configuration or the nighttime one?"

"No," I answer coldly, not bothering to make an excuse. The less I talk with him, the better.

Tris, on the other hand, thinks about the question for a moment. "I didn't catch anything about guards during the midday broadcast," she says slowly, "but I think it's the daytime configuration. It seemed like what Dan sees when he enters the building, not when he leaves."

As she talks, I begin noticing a subtle shift in the room, and by the time she finishes, it's clear what it is. Everyone is now looking at my father the way they looked at Amar before, as if he's in charge. To make it worse, he's wearing his leadership expression, the one he always wore in public. My hands ball into fists at the sight. I will _not_ let him make decisions that put Tris' life at risk.

"But," Caleb asks softly, "what does that tell us? I mean, do we know if buildings around here have more or less security at night?"

"Less," Christina answers confidently. "That's what Margot said the first time we came in here – that most companies just have one or two guards at night."

"But we're not talking about a private company," I remind her brusquely. "The NUSA government might not follow the same pattern."

"True," Cara answers in her Erudite tone, "but if the typical pattern is to have fewer guards at night, we can probably assume that there wouldn't be _more_ guards at night even in a government building. So, the maximum number should be what Tris saw." That's probably a valid point.

"Okay," I say, "but that still means there are at least eight guards in the building. We'll need a good plan to get past them."

"What about other entrances?" Christina asks. "Margot said most companies don't secure their freight entrances very well." At the blank look on Uriah's face, her mouth curves into a half-smile, and she adds, "Like the door we've been using here."

Tris shrugs. "Dan didn't think about most of the building – just the floor he works on and the lobby he walks through. We don't know what to expect elsewhere."

"Again, though," Cara says, "the government is likely to follow the same trend as private industry, or at least not run counter to it. So, the other doors won't have more guards than the front lobby, and probably have fewer. We should use one of them."

But I shake my head. "You're not thinking about the rest of the security system. I'm sure there will be cameras at all entrances, and someone monitors those – the way Dauntless did, and the way Simon does here."

Cara pinches her mouth in annoyance. She clearly hadn't thought of that. I guess that's the advantage of having worked in the Dauntless control room for two years – I'm very aware of cameras.

"But where do they watch from?" Uriah asks.

Before I can answer, Peter speaks up. "You're missing the obvious again." It didn't take long for his usual attitude to return.

"What happens in buildings after all the good little day workers go home?" he asks us, a trace of disgust in the way his mouth is set.

Most of the others exchange uncertain looks, and suddenly I understand Peter's expression. That cluelessness shows just how divided our society is.

"In Chicago," I answer, "the factionless came in to clean. But we don't know if something similar happens here."

"Oh, _come on_ ," Peter says. "Of course it does. The 'big, important' people who work there during the day aren't going to clean up after themselves. They don't even want to _see_ that filthy job." He shakes his head. "I'd bet anything that cleaners come in at night. And that means they're there right now."

"So, we have to watch out for them too?" Uriah asks in confusion.

Peter rolls his eyes. "No, you idiot. It means we can pretend to _be_ them."

Christina glares at him before saying, "I'd think the guards would notice if a bunch of strangers came in instead of the usual crew."

Peter laughs. "Really? You lived in Candor for sixteen years. Can you name one person who cleaned the public restrooms during that time, or mopped the hallways?" Christina looks startled at first, and then her eyes begin to widen as she realizes she can't. Peter continues, "Can you describe one of them? Any of them? After _sixteen_ years of seeing them?"

Christina looks down, clearly embarrassed. "No," she says finally.

"Exactly," Peter responds smugly. "No one notices the cleaners. Put on that outfit, grab those supplies, and you might as well be invisible." There's an edge to his voice, and I can tell he understands that perspective first-hand. Vaguely, I wonder how many buildings he had to clean as a young child, growing up factionless. How many toilets he had to scrub for children his own age who got to go to school when he didn't.

"Okay," Tris says tightly, and I suspect she was thinking the same thing I was. "But how do we get their uniforms and supplies? Particularly if the crew is already inside the building?"

"For a place that size," Peter answers, "they can't possibly carry in all the supplies at once. They'll probably have a supply truck they go back to regularly. There might even be uniforms in it. And if nothing else, someone will go outside to eat or smoke." He smirks as he adds, "And when they do, they'll use a back door – and they'll prop it open so they can get back inside."

I almost smile. For the second day in a row, Peter has handed us a plan. And it's a good one. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised; he probably would have picked Erudite if he'd had as many years of school as the rest of us, instead of half that number.

"Very well," Marcus says in his leader voice, and I bristle again. "To maximize the plan, we should split into two groups so we can cover two doorways at once."

"Why?" I can't help but snarl. I know I need to stay calm, but I won't have him splitting Tris and me up on top of everything else. It was bad enough when Amar did that, and I trusted him.

Marcus' eyes meet mine menacingly. "I would think the answer is obvious," he sneers as if I'm a troublesome child, but I don't let him finish. I have no interest in whatever lecture he plans to give.

"If Peter is right," I say firmly, "there will be a supply truck by the freight entrance. And that's the door the cleaners will use. So, what's the point of having half the group be somewhere else?"

Marcus glares at me, even more furious now, and for a moment the old familiar fear sinks into my stomach. I just showed him up in front of the others. There will be repercussions.

"Actually," Tris says in an odd tone, "I think maybe we _should_ split into two groups." I meet her eyes, unable to hide the surprise I'm feeling. Is she really suggesting we separate for the most dangerous part of this mission?

"But not for the reason he suggested," she adds quickly, trying to calm me.

"Then why?" It's difficult to get the words out through the tension that is suddenly locking every muscle in my body. I don't know why I'm reacting so strongly, but it's presumably related to the images of Erudite that are abruptly flooding my mind.

Tris hesitates, looking very uncomfortable, before she takes a deep breath and begins. "I think some of us should try to rescue Amar."


	33. Chapter 33: Tris – Explosion

**Chapter 33: Tris – Explosion**

"I think some of us should try to rescue Amar." The moment I say it, I know Tobias sees right through to the guilt squirming inside me. It's not the only thing motivating me, not like it was when I went to Erudite. But I can't deny it's there. My actions caused whatever Pari and Amar have suffered today.

And it doesn't just affect them. I saw the look on Tobias' face earlier, when he figured out why I returned alone. Amar is his friend – one of the only people he truly trusts and respects. And I may have killed him. Tobias won't blame me out loud, of course, but the proof is in his actions. He hasn't touched me since then.

"You're being foolish," Marcus states coldly. "Amar wants us to finish the mission he started. You know that, Beatrice."

"Yes," I snap at him, "I do. But I also know that we're less likely to succeed if we rush. And the main reason we need to rush is because Amar was captured. If we can rescue him, we buy time to do this right, or to try again if we fail tonight. That's _not_ foolish."

There's a pause while the others digest this. Then, Cara nods thoughtfully. "I'm inclined to agree. It's dangerous to risk everything in one effort, particularly when there's so much at stake."

Uriah looks like he might agree too, but before he can respond, Tobias shakes his head. "We don't know enough to go after Amar," he says in a low voice. "We have no idea where he is, or how well guarded he is."

He looks at me for confirmation, and I reluctantly admit, "That's true…but I doubt there will be many guards. They probably only capture one person at a time, and judging by what Amar said, most prisoners will stop fighting the moment they're given a high dose of serum. I bet they don't have more than a handful of guards."

Christina gives me a _you're showing your Erudite_ look. "That's all very logical," she comments, "but it's still just a guess. And we still don't know where they are. So, I'm not liking the odds."

"It's not hard to find them," I start to protest, but I stop as Tobias tenses up next to me. Our eyes meet, and I can tell that he's piecing together exactly what I'm suggesting. He knows me too well.

"You want to turn yourself in," he says bitterly, "so they'll take you to where Amar is, and someone can follow." I look down, nodding very slightly.

"It's the most sensible option," I explain before he can object. "With my hands like this, I can't hold a gun well, but I can play 'prisoner' just fine."

" _No,_ " he says fiercely. "I will _not_ watch you walk into another situation like that."

"It's not like Erudite," I insist. "We know what to expect this time. Amar already told us what they'll do to me, and that I'm immune to it. And I can fool them like he suggested – make them think the serum has worked when it hasn't. I won't be in any real danger at first, not for a while. And if someone follows me, they can work on breaking in from the outside while Amar and I attack from the inside. It stands a good chance of working."

But Tobias shakes his head adamantly. "Tris, we need you at the Control Computer. You can't go throwing yourself away like this!"

The words make me angry. He tells me that I have good ideas, that we should use them to help others, and then he refuses to listen the moment I suggest something that puts me in danger. _As if I'm a little girl who needs to be protected._ My hands automatically try to ball into fists, and the sharp pain from my injuries just adds to my frustration.

"It's not throwing myself away! It's helping Amar – and our mission."

"No, it's not!" he snarls. "There are at least _eight_ guards between us and the Control Computer, and only _nine_ of us. The odds are already bad. How does it 'help' to go with only half that number while the other half chase after Amar?"

For a moment, we glare at each other, and then Caleb interrupts us. "I'm not sure it's realistic to plan for a second chance, anyway," he says gently, understanding in his eyes as they meet mine. For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe he knows as much about guilt as I do.

"If we try and fail," he continues, "the government will be too alert for us to attempt anything else for a while, and Chicago doesn't have time to wait. I think our only real option is to throw everything into tonight's effort."

"Agreed," Tobias states flatly. But his voice takes on a softer tone as he meets my gaze and adds, "The best way to rescue Amar is to do the broadcast as soon as possible. If we do it right, it will stop all government attacks, including that one. We have to focus on that."

I sigh in frustration, pressing my uninjured palm against the bridge of my nose. "But what if we _don't_ succeed? Then we've lost everything. Not just Amar, but all the work the rebels put into our city, and all the effort it's taken to get us here. It would take another sixty years to build that up from scratch, if it's even possible to do all of this again."

"You are showing your ignorance," Marcus says scornfully. "By now, Anna will have gathered some of the strongest young Divergents into the bomb shelter. They can stay there safely for another generation and try again if we fail in our mission." He narrows his eyes as he adds, "But there is no excuse for us to fail. We must stop wasting time on Amar and move out. If he dies, so be it! He accepted that risk when he took this mission, and we cannot afford to keep discussing this merely to appease your guilty conscience."

Every muscle in me tightens in response. It's bad enough that _Marcus_ sees the guilt in me – and assumes that's the only reason for my argument, but his attitude toward Amar is far worse. After everything Amar has done for us, he deserves so much better than that. So much better than being dismissed as if he isn't worth any effort, isn't even worth a thought.

"It is not a _waste_ ," I shout, "to spend _five minutes_ considering ways to help him. We would probably do that even for you, and he is a far better human being than you will ever be!"

Marcus laughs derisively. "Spare me your drivel," he sneers. "I do not care in the slightest about your opinion, or about how _likable_ I am. I care about duty, and about ensuring the good of the population as a whole. It is a value I have tried to instill in all Abnegation, but it seems that neither of you is capable of learning it." His eyes pass over Tobias and back to me, disgust evident in his expression. "You are far too selfish."

A strange sound catches in my throat. "Are we supposed to believe that _you're_ a good judge of _selflessness_?" I ask him incredulously. "You, who beat your own family just to make yourself feel stronger?" Tobias stiffens next to me, and I wonder for a split second if I'm going too far, but I'm too furious to stop.

"What does it say about you that your wife faked her own death just to get away from you, and that your son changed factions because he hates you so much?" My voice is shaking now, but I'm still not done. I hold my injured hands up so Marcus can't help but see them. "What does it say that you harmed a member of your own team just because she dared to question you?" I almost spit the next part: "What does it say that you don't even have the decency to feel _guilt_ over any of that?" I'm still glaring at him as I add, "Don't try to lecture us. You don't even count as _human_."

For a long moment, our eyes lock with a ferocity that must radiate through the whole room. It must, because no one else makes a sound. They don't even move, apparently frozen in place.

Then, something inside Marcus seems to snap. "You are as bad as Evelyn! You are so concerned with being _kind_ and with trying to protect one person that you ignore your duty to the broader public."

He turns to Tobias, contempt filling his face as he snarls, " _And you allow it._ I tried to make you strong, to make you a leader, but you turned your back on me. And _this_ is the result. We stand here doing _nothing_ while you coddle your little girlfriend, as if she is worth more than an entire country."

Loathing twists his mouth as he continues. "I should have limited your mother's influence from the beginning. She was too focused on trying to 'protect' you from the discipline that you needed, and her defiance warped you. It taught you to be selfish." I didn't think Tobias could stand any straighter, but somehow he does at those words.

"And her obstinance grew over time, until she refused to perform even the most basic duties. We were always meant to have more children – more Divergents who would be able to help us now. But instead she acquired _birth control pills_ from an old friend in Erudite. She hid them for eight years, before I found out and put a stop to it." He shakes his head. "And even then, her defiance continued. A year later she gave birth to a child that clearly wasn't mine. A useless, sniveling infant with none of the skills we needed. _That_ is the mother you mourned for all those years – a selfish liar with no sense of duty."

Revulsion is evident in every aspect of his expression as he adds, "I tried to overcome her influence once she was gone, but she had already infected you with her self-indulgence. And now you allow Beatrice to do the same. It is a weakness we cannot afford – one that will destroy this entire mission."

"Enough!" Tobias snarls, interrupting Marcus' tirade. He steps closer to his father, his hands in such tight fists at his sides that his knuckles have turned white. "You have spent my lifetime blaming everyone else for your anger. I'm _not interested_ in hearing it anymore."

He takes another step closer, tension radiating from every pore of his body as he speaks again. "I don't _care_ what you think of my mother or of Tris or of me. I don't care what pathetic excuses you make for how you've treated us all. And I don't care what you think about this mission." He pauses, his face twisting as if he's not sure whether or not to say the next part, but the words come out anyway. "The only thing I want to know is what happened to the baby."

For a split second, my mind goes to the infant from the doctor's office today, but then Tobias says more fiercely, "What happened to my younger brother?" And I remember that Evelyn's second child supposedly died at birth – at the same time she did. A shudder passes through me as for the first time I fully understand why Evelyn abandoned Tobias. It wasn't to save herself. It was the only way to protect the baby from her husband's murderous wrath. Marcus made her choose between her children.

"How would I know the brat's fate?" Marcus spits. "I saw it once, just long enough to tell it wasn't mine." His face is utterly uncaring as he adds, "But I assume it died later. Infant mortality is high among the factionless."

I'm vaguely aware of Peter stiffening at the words, but I don't pause to watch him. I'm too consumed by the fresh wave of rage washing through me at this cold dismissal of a child's life, of _Tobias' brother's_ life, and at the idea that Marcus caused it by driving Evelyn away. I can't even begin to fathom how much harm this monster has caused, how much he is still causing the only remaining member of his family.

I turn to Tobias again, wanting to come up with some way of comforting him, but there's no comfort for this. He's been through more than any human being should ever have to take, and somehow his father keeps adding to that load.

I find myself stepping forward in blind fury. I've forgotten that my hands are damaged, forgotten that I'm not the kind of person who attacks others over words. Right now, all I want to do is wipe that expression off Marcus' face.

It shouldn't surprise me that Tobias gets there first. A strangled sound escapes from him as his hands fly at his father's throat. But this time, Marcus is ready for his son. He strikes fast, punching hard into Tobias' face. Tobias staggers back a step, startled, or perhaps caught by his oldest fear. For a second, the two of them stand less than a foot apart, their matching blue eyes digging into each other. And then they both explode.

The rest of us scramble to the side, trying to avoid being trampled as the room is suddenly filled with the two tall forms striking at each other with deadly ferocity. For a full minute, I just watch, feeling satisfaction with each blow Tobias delivers as the rage still pumps through me. But the sheer level of violence is frightening, and slowly it sinks in that maybe this time Tobias won't be able to stop himself. That maybe Marcus has finally pushed him too far, and that my boyfriend will kill his father. A voice whispers through me that it would be justified, but a larger part of me knows that no matter how true that might be, Tobias would struggle with the aftermath for the rest of his life. I can't let that happen.

"Stop it!" I scream, stepping closer to them. But if Tobias hears me, he gives no indication. He's too lost in fury.

"Tobias, stop!" I shout again, just as uselessly. I glance at the others, hoping that one of them will do something, but their faces tell me they have no desire to interfere. I guess that's not a total shock. Caleb and Cara are Erudite, used to words more than fists, and the others may feel that Marcus deserves this. And it certainly doesn't help that they see Tobias as their instructor, as a Dauntless prodigy who is way beyond their ability to fight.

No, Amar was the only one who would intervene in this situation, and he's not here now. _Because of me._ And that means I'm the one who has to do something.

I time it carefully, waiting as Tobias leans back, fast and hard, to avoid a vicious punch. When he moves forward to strike again, I go with him, taking advantage of my small size to slip in beside him and grab his arm.

Maybe it would have worked if my hands weren't injured, if I could have gripped tightly and held on long enough for Tobias' adrenaline to ease. Long enough for him to realize it was me. But I'll never know, because the moment my fingers glance over his wrist, failing to take hold, Tobias' arm swings in a back-fisted punch, catching me _hard_ across my ribs and stomach.

Until this moment, I didn't realize how much Tobias held back when he was under the simulation, when we fought in the Dauntless control room. But if this punch is any guide, he is far more powerful than he showed that day. I fly backwards across the room, slamming into the cement wall, and then I slump down to the floor, unable to move.

Sharp pain is tearing through my ribs, and I struggle to breathe. But if there's air around me, my body can't find it. I can't even gasp, can't make my diaphragm move. Panic sets in, and I can hear my heartbeat so loudly in my ears that it drowns out everything else.

But my vision still works, and I watch while Tobias turns toward me, his eyes wide with horror as he realizes what he's done. His father lands another fierce blow on him, but he doesn't even move to defend himself – just stares at me as if he's seeing his greatest fear come true. And in that instant, I know that he will never forgive himself for this. My eyes close in pain, wanting to shut out the world, wanting to turn time back and change the last ten minutes, wanting to tell Tobias that it's okay, that I know he didn't mean to hurt me.

Instead, when I open them again, I see Caleb launch himself between us, overcoming his terror in order to protect me. He blocks my view as he pushes Tobias away, forming an obstacle between me and the man I love. And I hear Christina shouting words I can't understand as she also moves between us, yelling at Tobias with a fury I've never seen in her. Black specks are dotting my vision now, but I can see Peter restraining Marcus, keeping him away from his son, and I know he's feeling his own years of abuse echoing through him. They seem to be echoing through me too, pounding their way through my ribcage.

The last thing I see is Uriah crouching beside me, tears in his eyes as he reaches out in a fruitless attempt to help me. But it's too late, and the blackness swallows me.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Tris. I love you." Tobias' whisper repeats over and over as the darkness starts to retreat. I don't know if the words are real or come from my imagination.

They're filled with such pain that they blend into the burning that sears through my ribs, into the ache that fills my head. At first, I can't tell one pain from another, particularly since they throb to the same rhythm. It takes me a while to realize that rhythm is my heartbeat.

And the pain grows as I regain consciousness. It's still difficult to breathe, and I can only manage shallow, little pants as I struggle to open my eyes. When I finally succeed, I see that Cara is crouched over me, her face etched with worry as she wraps something tightly around my ribs.

"Lie still," she says. "I don't think anything's badly broken, but you might have a cracked rib."

I try to nod, but my head hurts too much, so I attempt to speak instead. Nothing comes out. There's still no wind to put behind my voice.

"Don't try to talk," Cara tells me. "Focus on breathing." I do my best to obey, watching her actions as I breathe in and out, in and out. She's wrapping cloth around me – ripped up tee shirts, I think. The constriction helps the pain a little.

Gradually, my eyes move to the room beyond her, trying to locate the others, but I don't see or hear them. Cara notices my expression, and she purses her lips in distaste.

"Don't worry. They're not here."

I know she thinks the words are reassuring, but they're definitely not. _Where did Tobias go?_

After a moment, Cara sighs and says quietly, "There wasn't a choice, with the short timeframe. They all went after the Control Computer."

A moment ago, I didn't think it was possible to feel worse, but as cold reality sinks into my jumpy stomach, I realize it's actually very easy. Virtually everyone I love just left. _Tobias_ left. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

But my eyes stay dry. I remember Will's last moment alive, the way he looked as I shot him, and I know that Cara never got the chance to say farewell to him – to her brother. I can't cry in self-pity, wanting more for myself than I gave her, not while she tends my wounds. So, I push the thoughts back and keep breathing in and out, in and out, pretending nothing else exists in the world. Now is a time to be strong.


	34. Chapter 34: Tobias – Boxes

**Chapter 34: Tobias – Boxes**

Caleb stays annoyingly close as we scout out the freight entrance. I know he's trying to be supportive in the way Abnegation drills into its children. _Stay nearby but don't pry, in case the person wants to talk._ But I have no desire to say anything, no desire to think.

I understand now why my father always seemed to have two selves – the monster who beat us and the man who led the city and trimmed my hair and taught me about cars and computers and Divergence. He had to separate those parts of himself. It's the only way to face the world after you've done something unforgivable.

And I form that same box inside myself now. I can't think about _her_ sprawled against the wall, struggling to breathe after the blow I delivered. I can't even let myself say her name. All I can do is focus on the mission, on what I need to do within the next eight hours. There can't be anything beyond that or I will cease to function.

The others wait, trying to look casual, while Peter and I begin our jobs. He needs to pick out the cleaners' vehicle, and I have to locate the security cameras around the freight entrance. Fortunately, after two years of working in the Dauntless control room, I'm good at this, so it doesn't take long to find the three cameras and to figure out what areas they cover – and where there are gaps in the coverage. It will be tricky to navigate the gaps, but hopefully it's possible, depending on exactly where we need to go.

"There," Peter whispers, making a slight gesture with his chin. He's picked out a nondescript commercial van with no windows along the rear walls. It's backed into a space near the docking bay, where it's easily accessible from the building's back door. It seems like a reasonable guess.

"It will be tough to reach it," I whisper to him, looking at the cameras again even though I already have their coverage areas memorized. "Follow me closely." He nods wordlessly as I glance around to make sure no one outside our group is watching. We're clear.

To his credit, Peter does a good job of following me, staying close and keeping his limbs tucked to him the way I do, so nothing wanders into a camera's range. We work our way around the side of the van to the more hidden of its two back doors.

I take a deep breath before opening the door and climbing in quickly, Peter scurrying behind me and yanking the door shut. This is the riskiest part, since it puts us in range of one of the cameras for a few seconds. We just have to hope that it's dark enough here to obscure us, and that no one is viewing this particular camera closely at this exact moment in time. Normally, I'd feel pretty good about those odds, but with the kind of luck we've been having on this mission, I find myself tensely listening for the sound of approaching guards.

When the overhead light comes on, I actually jump before I realize that Peter turned it on. He gives me a half-hearted smirk before turning his attention to where we are. It's immediately clear that he was right about the vehicle – it's filled with cleaning supplies. We search rapidly, but it still takes us a few minutes to locate the spare uniforms. There are three of them, varying in size. It's a good start.

I take the largest outfit and give Peter the medium one, and we change quickly, ignoring the sight of each other's scars and more recent injuries.

"I'll take this one to Margot," I whisper, holding up the third uniform, which is considerably smaller than the other two. "It looks like it should fit her." Peter nods, busily collecting cleaning materials now, presumably to help his disguise.

I lead Margot to the dark area beside the van, where she's hidden from the cameras and from anyone who might pass by in the alleyway, and I turn away while she changes. She joins Peter after that, but I stay behind, watching the two of them move back and forth between the van and the back door of the building so the security guards will have time to see them. Hopefully, that will make it look like they came out of the building to get supplies and are now trying to reenter it.

It must work, because within a few minutes, I see them enter the building, apparently having convinced someone to open the door for them. It's nerve-wracking to watch them disappear into the unknown while I wait here, but I know it's what I need to do. I'm the best person to escort the others past the cameras, and whether or not I like the idea, I know I have to stay alive to operate the Control Computer. That duty falls squarely on me now, since I destroyed our better option.

It's a frustratingly long wait before the back door opens again – probably a half hour. I watch the figure that emerges closely, unable for a moment to discern features. A small sigh of relief goes through me when I realize it's Margot. She props the door open behind her and then calmly approaches the van, carrying a large bag. I can only assume there are uniforms in it.

"Christina and Uriah," she mutters when she's close enough for me to hear. She opens the door and swings the bag as if loading it, before she drops it surreptitiously onto the ground by the van. I pull it into the spot where she changed earlier and then make my way toward the others, leading Christina and Uriah back with me. They don't say anything, which is not surprising. Neither one has spoken a word to me since Christina finished yelling earlier.

Once again, I watch as my newly-disguised companions enter the building. They go one at a time, a few minutes apart, to reduce the odds of someone realizing they're coming into the building without having first left it. As Christina walks through the door, a bloodstain on the back of her uniform catches my eye. I don't let myself think about it. It's better not to know what Margot did to get those clothes, or what happened to their previous occupants.

The next waiting period is even more nerve-wracking, despite the fact that it's shorter. _Finally,_ Margot returns again, carrying a bag as she did before.

"Get the others," she whispers, and I retrieve my father and Caleb, leading them to the "changing spot" before joining Margot in the van.

"Same deal as before," she says softly as she hands me a mop and bucket. "We'll go in one at a time, a few minutes apart. Once you're inside, hang left until you see a door for the stairs. Go all the way to the bottom and wait in the nook under the stairwell." I nod and immediately make my way to the back door of the building, entering casually and leaving the door propped open behind me.

I walk into a large, well-lit space that is half-filled with stacks of boxes. Apparently, they get quite a few deliveries here. I keep my head tilted down and my pace deliberate as I shuffle through the large room. There's no one in sight, but I have to assume I could be seen at any time, so I'm careful to keep my body language appropriate to my disguise. At least I know what I'm supposed to be imitating. Unlike the others in our group, I saw the factionless cleaning up at night quite a few times as I watched from the control room.

Peter, Christina, and Uriah are already in the stairwell when I get there. We wait in silence, not looking at each other, until the others arrive.

"We've taken out too many people," Peter whispers once we're all together. "The guards will start noticing that no one is cleaning some of the usual areas."

Marcus nods. He seems to be in charge again, since no one else has stepped up to take the role and I've stopped protesting. _It doesn't matter at this point,_ I tell myself. _I'm as bad as he is._

"Some of us will need to do their portion of the cleaning for now, to avoid suspicion," Marcus says in a low voice. "The rest of us must determine where the cameras are monitored from, so we can take out the guards in that location. That will give us the cover we need to reach the Control Computer." He turns to Margot expectantly and asks, "Do you know where the monitoring station is likely to be?"

She thinks about that for a moment before saying, "I've seen security stations in the main lobby in a lot of buildings, and the guards usually have monitors that flash images from around the building. That would be my best guess."

"I'll go," I say. "I'm the most familiar with that type of equipment, so I should be able to figure out how to disable it."

Marcus eyes me narrowly for a moment before nodding. "Very well. You and I will go together." I manage not to flinch.

"I'll go too," Caleb says quickly, "in case it's a different type of system than what you've used before." He has the grace not to add that he's the only Erudite left among us, so he's now the smartest resource we have.

Marcus tilts his head in acquiescence before turning to the others. "The rest of you will need to fill in for the cleaners we took out." His gaze rests on Christina as he adds, "Be sure to do the job credibly to avoid raising an alarm." Peter rolls his eyes, and Christina narrows hers in annoyance, but they all head out without verbally complaining.

Marcus, Caleb, and I briefly discuss tactics for approaching the main lobby. We'll need an excuse, since we're not sure what time the cleaners are normally in that part of the building, and we need to walk directly there, instead of cleaning our way there over the course of hours. It takes a few minutes to come up with a plan, and I can't help but feel _her_ absence during the discussion. I know she'd come up with something better. But it's a moot point, so I end up agreeing with Caleb's idea, and when my father accepts it too, we move out.

We make our way toward the lobby at a carefully casual pace. The building is in far better shape than anything we've seen in NUSA so far – more like the faction buildings back home. I don't know if that's typical of government buildings here or if this particular location is used by "important" people. Either way, I find myself gazing at the beautiful marble floors and spotless walls as we walk. They're a stark contrast to the hand-made shelters most of the population sees every day.

We pass a handful of cleaners on our way, and they glance at us curiously, obviously wondering who we are. But we nod and continue as if we're simply new, hoping that the cleaning crew is big enough for that to be reasonable. Apparently it is, because they return to their work without comment.

The third group we pass contains two children. They're on their knees, scrubbing the floor by hand, their body language making it clear that they're used to this type of hard work. I stare at them for a moment, suddenly wondering if Margot and Peter just killed their parents to get us uniforms.

I force myself to look away, trying to push this thought down too, along with all the others, but it's too much on top of everything else. My mind floods with images…. Peter cleaning like that as a child, in between beatings. My mother and little brother starving on the streets like the thousands of women and children we've passed by in the last few days. The boy that Eric shot in Candor, dead by the elevators. If my brother is still alive, he's around that age – around nine. For all I know, that was him.

I almost stop walking when I think of the little girl I gave the rest of my sandwich to earlier. Her face was lit with a fierce kind of hope as she grasped that small bit of food, as if it meant the difference between life and death. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by how cruel our societies are to the most innocent among us.

And then the realization hits me that _I'm_ the one who can change that. If we succeed, I'll be broadcasting a message to this entire country, trying to forever change the direction of its government. All of those lives are in my hands. The thought is absolutely terrifying.

I remember the message Anna tried to teach me to project, the message that explains about the Suggestibility Serum and the receivers and then throws out the current government. It puts other people in charge, people I don't know. I was so worried about whether or not I could project the message properly that I barely thought about the message itself. But now I do. How do I know if I can trust those people to do anything better than NUSA? Anything better than what Chicago has done? My actions will put them in charge, and that means that I'm ultimately responsible for what they do. And I don't know what's right.

God, I wish _she_ was here. Her instincts are so much better than mine – I know she could send a message that would make things right. But I ruined that chance, and now everyone in this country will end up suffering the consequences of that terrible mistake. _What the hell have I done?_

I want to stop and let myself panic. I want to crumple up against the wall and shut out the world. But that isn't a choice right now, so instead I keep walking beside my father, adding those thoughts to the box inside me. It allows me to function.

* * *

The main lobby is even more striking than the hallways we've been navigating. It's at least three stories tall, with marble and glass reflecting the numerous lights. I let my eyes wander briefly to the front doors – just long enough to see that the lobby doesn't connect directly to the outside wall of the building. There's an entrance room of some type in between, filled with equipment I've never seen before. I don't look long, but I'm glad there's at least a buffer between us and whoever might be watching from outside. If we have to kill the guards, we certainly don't want witnesses.

We approach the circular desk at the back of the lobby. A man sits there, his feet up on the desk, drinking coffee as he looks at us with mild distaste. The cleaners must not approach the security officers very often.

"Excuse me," Caleb says to the guard in a hesitant, downtrodden voice. "We got a note from Michael Beamer that special cleaning is needed where he works." He looks down as if he's embarrassed. "But we don't know the offices by people's names. Could you please tell us which room number that is?"

The guard looks us up and down before he turns to his computer and types a bit, presumably getting the information we requested. I take the opportunity to look at the monitors on his desk. There's one that flips between images from security cameras, but I don't see any controls for it. It doesn't look like the main monitoring station. I scan the lobby slowly, keeping my movements casual. There's an open door to the side, and I can see another security guard in there, also sitting at a computer. I know instinctively that _that_ is the right room, but we have no excuse to enter it. That means we'll need to take it by force.

I complete my survey of the lobby. There is one other guard standing by the front doors, looking bored. If we attack, it will be three of us against three of them. That's manageable, but the sound of gunshots might attract attention we don't want. I meet Caleb's eyes briefly, wondering if he's thought of any alternatives, but there's no flash of brilliance there. Reluctantly, I glance at my father and see his indication that we should act, and I nod dully.

I already know how we should break this down. My aim is the best, so I'll need to shoot the guard who's farthest away – the one who's in the other room. Marcus will take the next farthest – the one by the front doors. That leaves Caleb to handle the one who's right in front of us. In a way, that's the hardest one, since it's always more difficult to kill someone when you can see the fear in their eyes, but it's the most logical option. I glance at Caleb again, gesturing towards the guard with my eyes, and he swallows hard before nodding infinitesimally.

The three of us pull our guns and fire simultaneously. For a second, the lobby echoes with the loud gunshots, and then it goes nearly silent. All three guards slump in place, but a low moan starts from the one closest to us. Caleb missed the kill shot.

I turn my weapon on the bleeding man, but before I can fire, his eyes find mine and lock in place, pleading with me. I stiffen.

_There's no choice,_ I tell myself. _Pretend I'm in my fear landscape, facing my fear of taking a life._ But his eyes are too human, and I know _she_ wouldn't do it. She'd find another way.

"We'll tie you up if you stay completely quiet," I hiss at him. But the frantic look in his eyes tells me that won't help him. The government must kill guards who fail in their duty.

Our eyes are still locked, my mind churning through options, when the gunshot sounds next to me. The guard's head whips backwards, spun by an irresistible force, as blood erupts from his skull. I close my eyes, just for a half second.

"Caleb, keep watch for others," Marcus orders tersely. "Tobias, we need to hide the bodies." I nod and step towards the man whose last moment I just saw. Maybe my father is right that we should focus on the greater good. It's too hard to think about one person at a time.

Between us, we haul the dead bodies into the monitoring room and hide them behind the desk. I ignore the guilt that stabs through me as I move the one I killed, but I silently add her to the list of lives I've taken. I don't know if I can ever be forgiven for all of them. Now isn't the time to wonder.

My father begins cleaning up the blood trail while I evaluate the security equipment. I can see where the cameras feed in, and I know I can stop the flow of images. What is less clear is who else in the building can currently see them. There might be other stations that view the information the way the front desk does, and when I shut off the feed, those guards might come looking for an explanation.

"One of us is going to have to dress in uniform and stay here," I mutter to my father when he returns. "To cover things if anyone comes looking."

He nods. "Figure out how many guards are left in the building and where they are," he tells me firmly, "and then shut down the system." I obey as he heads toward Caleb. The funny thing is that I don't even care anymore that he's giving me orders. In a way, it's a relief. It means I'm less responsible for my own actions.

Within minutes, Caleb is wearing a combination of the dead guards' uniforms – the most blood-free pieces we could put together – and is sitting at the main desk in the lobby. We've closed the door to the monitoring room, to make it less obvious that there's no one on duty there anymore, and we've disabled the camera feeds entirely – to wherever they go. It's the best we can do.

I glance at Caleb a last time as Marcus and I leave, a pang of guilt going through me at leaving him in such a dangerous position. He's _her_ brother, after all. But my expression never changes, and I follow my father without question as we head back to retrieve the others. The Control Computer is next.


	35. Chapter 35: Tris – Invasion

**Chapter 35: Tris – Invasion**

Cara suggests I try to sleep, but there's no way that's going to happen. All I can do is lie here, gritting my teeth against the pain while wondering what the others are doing right now. I hate not knowing if they're safe…or even still alive.

The only thing that comforts me is knowing how focused Marcus is on the mission. He can't complete it successfully without Tobias, which at least means my boyfriend is likely to survive. Assuming he's still my boyfriend.

It's difficult to decide how I feel about him right now. I'm not really mad – or at least not nearly as mad as Cara thinks I should be. I have almost no voice to answer her with, so she rants freely about how Tobias almost killed me and how he clearly can't control his anger and how I shouldn't trust him again. And objectively I have to admit she has some valid points.

But I also know he never meant to hurt me, and that he'll punish himself far more for his actions than anyone else ever could. Far more than I want.

Besides, I'm not exactly blameless in this, either. It was foolish to step into the middle of that fight – there's a reason none of the others did it. So, I find myself more frustrated than anything else. Frustrated, and worried, and unsure what will come next.

Eventually, Cara helps me get up so I can try walking. I've never been good at accepting assistance from others; it's part of the pride I struggle with. But I have no choice at the moment. I can barely stand even with help, let alone without it, so I let her wrap an arm around me and steady me as I take a few steps.

At first, it reminds me of how I felt during initiation, after my fight with Peter. But it quickly becomes obvious that this is much worse. The pain pierces my ribs more and more with each step, until it feels like someone has inserted a knife and is twisting it with each movement. And there seems to be a direct link between that point and my lungs, because the pain takes away my ability to breathe like nothing else ever has. Still, if there's one thing Dauntless taught me, it's that I'm stronger than the limits of my body. So, I push through the agony, finding a way to keep walking despite it.

The effort is exhausting. By the time I've hobbled around the room once, my eyelids are as heavy as the rest of my body, and I think I might finally be able to fall asleep despite everything. Cara helps me sink back to the floor, and I close my eyes gratefully.

I open them immediately when I hear voices. The sound is faint, but it's definitely there, and I turn to the door, seizing Cara's arm to get her attention. She stiffens, her eyes wide and fearful, but she doesn't lose her wits. Instead, she rises in silence, helping me to my feet again, and we move as quietly as possible to the back part of the room, where we're hidden by all the pipes and equipment.

She leans me against a large pipe so I'm facing towards the door, and she hands me my gun. I can barely stay upright, and it _hurts_ to grip the weapon, but I do it anyway. I shift a little to the side so I can see the door through a small gap between the pipes, and I place my gun carefully into the opening. I should be able to shoot reasonably well from here if the need arises.

Beside me, I'm aware of Cara doing the same thing, but I keep my attention on the door. Belatedly, I realize we should have turned the lights off to hide our presence, but I suppose we can at least see to aim this way.

We don't wait long before the door opens and soldiers enter. My heart rate increases with each one I see, so it may be just as well that it's difficult to count them through my small viewing hole. I can make out six clearly, but there are definitely more than that. This is not good.

It gets worse when they start talking.

"This is where we stayed each night," Amar's voice sounds, betraying us to his captors. I shift very slightly, trying to catch sight of him through the soldiers. When I do, I wish I hadn't. His face is badly bruised, and his eyes are blank. Worse, as he turns, I see that the side of his head has been shaved and that some type of device is now attached there. With a twist of nausea, I remember him saying that the military inserts a probe directly into their prisoners' brains before questioning them. I didn't expect it to be so…big.

"I swear, I didn't know anything about this," a man's voice says. "It was just my ex and her friend. I never saw anyone else." Simon.

"That's true," Amar responds calmly, almost in a monotone. "Margot distracted him while Christina let us into the building. He had no idea we were here."

One of the soldiers makes a dismissive sound, clearly not willing to let Simon off the hook that easily.

"How many of you were there?" she asks Amar.

"Four," he replies, reluctance in his voice. But the answer sends a surge of relief through me. _He's lying,_ and that means the serum hasn't overtaken him completely yet. That must be why they're here and not by the Control Computer – he's giving them a half-truth to buy us time, like he promised he would.

"Four," the same soldier says thoughtfully. "Does that include the woman you killed?" The relief vanishes as quickly as it came. Pari must be dead.

I don't hear an audible response, but I think Amar nods. A moment later, the woman asks, "Why did you shoot her?"

Amar's voice is quiet as he answers. "She would have talked." Something about his tone is familiar – dejected, as if he has to speak when he doesn't want to. It takes me a second to realize he sounds the way Tobias did under truth serum.

"She would have talked about what?" the woman prompts Amar.

He sighs. "She knew our plans, and I didn't want her to reveal them."

There's some satisfaction in the woman's voice as she asks, "Exactly what plans are those?" I suspect she's been trying to get Amar to answer that question for hours. This time, he does.

"We were very angry…. I don't remember why, but we were. And we thought that if we planted bombs in some public places, it would scare people, and then they'd think that the government couldn't keep them safe. We thought it would lead to rebellion." He pauses before adding, "It all sounds strange now. I don't really understand what we were thinking."

The woman smiles a little, watching him closely. In that moment, I find myself aiming at her, my finger twitching on the trigger as I once again debate whether or not to attempt a rescue. Amar is clearly doing what he promised – buying us time – and he seems to be good at it. But I don't know how long he can keep it up, and if we have to rescue him, this is undoubtedly the best chance we'll get. Part of me says we should take the opportunity before we lose it.

Before I can decide, the soldier cocks her head and asks, "Which areas were you planning to attack?"

"I only know one of them." Amar now sounds as if he's embarrassed. "I'm not from Philadelphia, and Pari was in charge of picking the locations, so I only know the one we went to earlier today. I can take you to that one, though."

"Okay," the woman says in a calm, reassuring voice, as if she's talking to a child. "But first we need to find the others. Where are they now?"

"Margot and Christina left here a couple of hours ago," Simon says, clearly anxious to help.

Amar nods. "Then they must be at the backup location. I don't know the address, but I can lead you there."

"Very well," the woman comments in the same tone as before. "As soon as we've cleared this building, we'll go."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, perhaps because the tone is so soothing. I don't really _get_ what she means until she gestures to the other soldiers to spread out and search. But as they begin winding their way through the room and the hallway just outside, a spike of adrenaline finally jolts through me. We can't hide from them for long.

Amar turns calmly in place, his eyes roaming the room, looking unconcerned. And then his gaze meets mine through the narrow opening between the pipes. He freezes for a split second, alarm passing over his features before he hides it. He must have assumed we were long gone, or he never would have brought our enemies here.

"The others won't be here," he says firmly, doing an impressive job of keeping his voice level. "We were very careful to avoid the cameras except when Margot was distracting Simon. We should go to the backup location now, before they leave."

The woman in charge seems to be debating this, but before she comes to a conclusion, the closest soldier rounds the corner of the pipes that shield us. We're out of time.

Cara and I fire simultaneously. Her bullet takes out the soldier who was in the process of discovering us, while mine goes exactly where I was aiming. Their leader drops to the floor, blood gushing through her hair.

The reaction is immediate, chaos abruptly filling the room. I shoot repeatedly, aware from the noise on my left that Cara is doing the same and that the others in the room are returning fire. Meanwhile, Amar sweeps the legs out from underneath a soldier by him and then drops low and launches himself into the stomach of another. Somewhere in the process, he must grab a gun, because suddenly he's shooting at point blank range, helping to eliminate the remaining troops.

It's all over within a minute. Amar checks each soldier to ensure they're all dead as Cara helps me walk over to him. I feel a moment's sympathy for Simon, killed in the middle of a battle that had nothing to do with him, but there's no time to linger on the thought.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" Amar hisses at us, fear and anger blazing from his face. But then he sees how I'm hobbling along, barely able to move with Cara's help, and his expression changes to something like pain. He swears.

"There are soldiers all over the building," he says desperately, meeting my eyes. "There's no way to get you out of here."

For several long seconds, we just look at each other, and then I nod. "You two run," I say hoarsely, finding my voice for the first time since Tobias' fist slammed into my chest. "It's okay if I'm captured. I'll buy you time."

Amar and Cara exchange a glance, looking torn, but then Amar clenches his jaw and nods.

"Be brave," he whispers to me before he grabs Cara's arm and pulls her from the room in a run. I see her glance back at me once before they disappear from sight, and I try to look reassuring, to look confident that I can do this. It's a lie, but it's a selfless one, and despite Amar's words, right now I need to be Abnegation.

As their footsteps fade away, I lean against the wall, trying to ignore the pain that is working its way back into my consciousness. It seems like a very long time passes. I'm debating sitting down when I begin to hear additional gunfire echoing from somewhere in the building. It's difficult to tell how close it is or who is being shot, and again the frustration digs into me. I hate not knowing what's going on, hate being left behind, hate being _helpless_.

I've _always_ hated feeling powerless. All of the obstacles in my fear landscape were ultimately about that, and I only got through them by changing things so I became more powerful. Even when I was a captive in Erudite, I found ways to gain some control over my situation. Striking a deal with Jeanine so she would show me my test results. Defeating her simulations. Little acts of rebellion that helped me deal with the fear. But now I'm stuck here, with no options.

Something my father said once flits through my mind. _There are always alternatives._ Was he right about that?

My eyes roam the room, looking for possibilities, and then an idea occurs to me. I fire my gun down the hallway, aiming at nothing in particular. I just need to create a distraction – anything to lure some of the soldiers away from Amar and Cara. I fire at random intervals, changing my aim enough to create different sounds. When my gun runs out of bullets, I retrieve another from one of the fallen soldiers and continue to shoot into the hallway.

Eventually, it works. Footsteps pound down the stairs and then freeze as I fire near them. Voices shout, and more soldiers come. By the time I have nothing left to fire, I no longer hear shooting elsewhere in the building. I can only hope that means my friends have escaped.

"I give up!" I say as loudly as my lungs will allow. "I don't want to do this anymore."

There's silence for a moment, and then a man shouts, "Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up!"

I make a point of throwing the gun I'm holding out into the hallway, letting it spin gradually to a stop before I walk out. It's almost impossible to stay upright without support, but I don't dare lean against the wall right now. Someone would undoubtedly shoot me if I do. So, I stagger forward as best I can, holding my hands up.

"I'm hurt," I gasp, trying to take advantage of my small size and injuries to generate sympathy. It's hard to do, particularly after just thinking about how much I hate feeling weak, but Tobias was right. Sometimes it helps to show vulnerability, even if it isn't real.

And it seems to work. Two soldiers come forward and handcuff me, but they aren't overly vicious about it, particularly when you consider that I was just shooting at them and that I'm surrounded by the dead bodies of their companions. I doubt I'd be as gentle in their position.

They each grab one of my arms, so they can march me between them, before they lead me back to the rest of their group. And then we're climbing the stairs – or more accurately, they're half-dragging me up them. The experience adds a whole new meaning to the word "pain." It seems to last forever, but then we're finally outside in the cold night air, marching toward the unknown location where I can expect some new torture.

I just hope that Cara and Amar got away. That will make whatever happens to me next worthwhile. But I'm not foolish enough to ask about them; even if I could talk with the current fire burning through my ribcage, it wouldn't do any good. It's obvious from the soldiers' eerie silence that they're not allowed to talk to me.

At least not until I have serum flowing through my body and a probe on my head like Amar's. I can't help but shudder at the thought.


	36. Chapter 36: Tobias – Alarm

**Chapter 36: Tobias – Alarm**

I follow Marcus back the way we came, in the direction of the stairwell where we met earlier. We walk faster than we should for our disguises, but it doesn't really matter. With the security cameras down, we're less likely to be seen now, whereas speed is more important than ever. Even if no one heard our gunshots in the lobby, it's only a matter of time before some of the other guards in the building make their way there to see why the cameras aren't working. And Caleb won't be able to keep their suspicions at bay forever.

We slow down temporarily as we pass each group of cleaners we walked by earlier. They seem less interested in us this time, now that we're more familiar to them. I'm glad. My father would undoubtedly shoot them if they stared at us too long – even the children. Maybe especially them.

When we pass Christina, Marcus gestures for her to join us. She gives me a cold look as she does so, following us in silence.

We reach Margot next, and this time my father stops so we can all hold a whispered conversation.

"Tobias, where are the other guards in the building?" he asks, apparently trusting that I made the appropriate observations before taking down the security cameras earlier. It's probably the first time he's ever trusted me to do something right, but this isn't the moment to dwell on it, so I simply answer.

"There are a lot more guards than Dan Miter was thinking about in his broadcast. There are the two we knew about, stationed outside the room with the Control Computer, but there are also four others who patrol that floor and another four who patrol the building at large. And there's a grouping of ten soldiers on the twentieth floor. They seem to be guarding something else, so it's possible they won't leave that floor, but we obviously don't know that for certain."

Dead silence greets my words as the others realize there are potentially twenty guards between us and our goal.

My father finally speaks. "Collect Uriah and Peter," he tells Margot firmly, "and go up the stairway at the northern end of the building. Your goal is to clear the eighteenth floor of guards as quietly as possible. If you are unable to eliminate them all, Uriah should attempt to reach the computer while you and Peter lure the remaining guards up that same staircase. Make it look like you're attacking the twentieth floor, to focus attention there."

I can't help but stare at him at those words. What he's suggesting is a suicide mission, but Margot just nods grimly as she says, "Understood." She knows what's at stake.

Marcus glances at me and Christina before he adds, "We'll climb the southern stairs and wait ten minutes for them to succeed before we head to the Control Computer." His eyes move briefly around the group to verify that we all understand and will obey. Margot nods again, her face determined; Christina and I do too, though less emphatically.

"Remember," Marcus hisses, "the mission is to get Tobias to that computer. If we fail in that goal, Uriah must reach it. Everyone else is expendable." The words are like a slap in the face. Margot already agreed to follow his orders to her death if needed; what else does he want? A flat-out statement that the others should gladly die for my worthless hide? But then I realize that he's looking at Christina. He wants her commitment too. The thought makes me sick.

She glares at me for a second before turning back to Marcus, anger radiating from her entire face. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. But just so we're clear, I'll do it for my mother and sister, and for Tris. Not for you. Not for douche bags who beat up girls half their size."

The comment freezes everything inside me, but I certainly can't respond. She's right.

My father, of course, isn't willing to admit that. He glowers at her, and his expression sends a chill up my spine. I know from far too many experiences over the years how he'll respond to her attitude. Abruptly, I feel the need to protect her from those consequences. It seems like the very least I can do.

"Dad," I say firmly. It's the first time I've used that title since my choosing day over two years ago, and it catches his attention. His eyes shift to me as I continue. "She's just a loudmouthed Candor. Ignore her. We have a mission to complete."

Beside me, I can practically feel Christina's eyes boring holes into me, furious that I just insulted her on top of everything else, but I focus only on my father. After another second, he nods.

"Go," he tells Margot simply, and she obeys immediately, heading off to find Uriah and Peter. I try not to wonder if this will be the last time I ever see her alive.

Marcus turns his back on Christina without another glance and begins walking toward the southern stairway. I follow instantly, and shortly afterwards I hear Christina's footsteps joining us. I don't look at her.

* * *

We don't run into anyone on our way to the eighteenth floor. Technically, that's a good thing, but realistically it means the tension has time to build without any form of release. By the time we've been waiting in the stairway for five minutes, a headache is pounding up from my stiff neck, and I can barely restrain myself from firing at even the slightest noise. But I stay in control. I suppose that's the benefit of having lived under Marcus' thumb for sixteen years and under Eric's for another two. I'm used to having the constant urge to kill someone – and used to finding a way to suppress it.

It's obvious when Margot and the others make their move. We can hear the gunshots through the heavy metal door that separates the stairs from the eighteenth floor. They're followed by the sound of pounding feet and shouting. I'm pretty sure I hear Uriah's voice at one point, but then the noise begins to retreat, and I don't know if he's okay or not. _He has to be._ I can't tell my best friend that I listened and did nothing as his brother died. I've already destroyed the most important relationship in my life. Zeke is all I have left.

We wait tensely as more gunshots sound, but they're farther away now. I look at my father, gesturing toward the door and cocking an eyebrow. It seems like time for us to move. He nods – and then motions Christina forward. My jaw clenches, but I don't say anything. It wouldn't help the mission for me to go first, not when I'm the one who has to reach the Control Computer, and Marcus is making his point by sending her.

Christina gives him a sour look but slips through the door anyway, holding her gun in front of her. I'm sure it's less than a minute before she returns, but it feels like years. When she opens the door again, Marcus and I both aim at her instinctively before shifting our weapons to the side as we follow her onto the floor.

We're in a narrow, carpeted hallway that is lined on both sides with cubicles. It looks so ordinary it's difficult to believe that anything as evil as the broadcasts could be transmitted from this location every day.

We move forward, looking for a hallway on our left. The Control Computer is near the southwest corner of the floor, so we'll need to head in that direction at the first opportunity. We listen intently as we go, but it's silent now. I don't know if the others are simply out of earshot on this huge floor, or if they're now leading guards up the stairs, or if they're all dead.

We see a body as we enter the second hallway. It takes an agonizing thirty seconds to get close enough to see the form clearly, as we check all directions to make sure the coast is clear. It's no one we know, but I stare for just a moment at the twisted form spilling blood onto the clean carpet. It looks grotesquely out of place.

I tear my eyes away as we move past. Christina is still leading, and Marcus has taken up the rear, the two of them guarding me between them. But the problem is that I'm the one who knows the way. I was able to receive the broadcast much more clearly than either of them, so I have a mental map of this floor that they lack.

I'm stepping closer to Christina, trying to indicate that I should take the lead, when the alarm begins. It sounds incredibly loud as it echoes through the silent floor, causing us to jump violently in reaction.

The three of us quickly gather back-to-back, guns facing outward as we scan for any movement. There's nothing, and again I'm left wondering what's happening with the others. Is the alarm because they're attacking the twentieth floor, or because they failed on this one? Or has Caleb been discovered? There's no way to know.

The volume of the alarm makes it difficult to be sure, but I think I can hear the pounding of footsteps in the distance. I look around again, trying to figure out where they're coming from, and if they're getting closer or farther away, but it's impossible to tell. Maybe it doesn't matter. The alarm doesn't change our goal.

I gesture to Marcus and Christina as I begin moving rapidly toward the Control Computer. They race behind me, trying to flank me again, but I don't give them the chance. I've done enough following for today. It's time for me to lead.


	37. Chapter 37: Tris – Sacrifice

** Chapter 37: Tris – Sacrifice **

I wonder if the Dauntless ever noticed that it's easier to ignore pain when you're afraid? Probably not. It would be too much like admitting that there's a type of strength in fear, and they're absolutely determined to believe that no good can come from it. But as the soldiers pull me along between them, I find myself much more worried about what's ahead than I'd like to admit, and I almost forget the burning in my ribs during that time.

The fear gets worse as we walk, and it's not just because of what's ahead. It's also because of _where_ we're heading. We seem to be making a beeline for the building with the Control Computer. It never occurred to me before that NUSA might question their prisoners there, but now that I think about the possibility, it makes sense. They would obviously have the right equipment there, and the people to control it. But if that's true, it means I'm bringing a dozen soldiers to where my friends are, right as they're in the middle of the most important part of our mission. I can't let that happen.

For a couple of blocks, I seriously consider making a break for it. There aren't many possible outcomes, after all. I could die, in which case the soldiers might go searching for Amar and Cara. Or I could get away and lead them off. Or I could fail, and nothing would change.

I'm about ready to risk it when we finally start veering south, giving me hope that we're going somewhere else after all. Three blocks later, to my enormous relief, the soldiers pull me into the other building we spent the last few days observing. _Of course._ It's owned by the government too.

Inside the entrance, my guards shift so we're walking single file as we pass through a room filled with strange equipment. I've never seen anything like this before, with long conveyor belts and arches that are not much bigger than a large adult. It's hard to imagine what all this is used for, but I'm glad that it's silent and unmanned right now. On top of everything else, it looks downright frightening, and I almost shudder as my captors push me through one of the arches and into the lobby beyond it.

I don't notice much about the lobby, since the soldiers surround me the moment we step into it, and their tall forms block my view on all sides. But I'm glad when they lug me over to the bank of elevators instead of a stairway. I don't want a repeat of being hauled up the stairs. The pain from the last set is still far too fresh in my mind.

We get off the elevator on the fourteenth floor, and my captors pull me down a series of long hallways. I catch glimpses of white walls and closed metal doors as we pass. The lights overhead flicker a little, casting an eerie reflection on the ugly green tile beneath my feet, and I can't help but remember being dragged through another set of long hallways in another building a lifetime ago. _I don't want to do this._

Eventually, they shove me into a room that is an unnerving mix of the Erudite labs where I was tortured and the control simulator we used in the bomb shelter. On one side of the room stands a metal table with restraints hanging from all edges of it; it is surrounded by several smaller tables that are covered with surgical equipment. I shudder at the sight, knowing that's where they'll connect a probe to me the way they did with Amar.

I try to focus on the other side of room, hoping to find it less unsettling. But that's debatable. Two chairs sit a little apart from a computer, with wires and electrodes hanging from hooks on the walls and chairs. I know they'll connect me to that soon, as well as hooking up someone to question me. Perhaps it's because I know what's coming, or perhaps because I don't know enough about it, but to me, the entire setting screams _torture_.

The soldiers must have done this many times, because they don't pause for instructions before taking me to the metal table. Briefly, I think about struggling, but then they pick me up, and the pain surges so strongly that it's all I can do to gasp for air. So instead, I do my best to relax as they lay me down on the table. _Focus on breathing,_ I remind myself as they strap restraints around every part of my body. But it's hard not to panic as they clamp my head in place.

It gets harder when I hear the clipping of scissors and feel blades snipping the hair away from the left side of my head. I know why they're doing it, of course, but that's not the only thing that bothers me about it. It's also abhorrent to everything Abnegation in me.

Growing up, my mother always trimmed my hair, and it feels _wrong_ to have strangers removing the tresses she so lovingly handled. As if they're taking away a vital part of me – one of the few things that still connects me to her.

A moment later, the buzz of an electric razor replaces the scissors, and that's followed by cold wipes and the sight of a small plastic tent in my peripheral vision. They're clearly getting the area ready for surgery. A fresh stab of fear goes through me as I wonder if they'll give me any anesthesia. I've heard that there are no pain receptors in the skull or brain, but they'll still be slicing through skin and flesh to get there. I don't want to feel that.

But I do. It starts with a different buzzing sound. I can't see the source of the noise, but when it touches the side of my head, I realize it's a drill. And it slices into me with no warning. The pain is fierce, definitely worse than what my hands have suffered, though on balance I'd have to say it's not as bad as the vicious ache throbbing and burning through my ribcage. A strange desire to laugh bubbles up inside me as I realize I'm getting through this by comparing the different pains assaulting my body, as if this is just a scientific experiment in school, and I'm creating a chart of my results.

1\. Cracked rib and bruised diaphragm

2\. Drilling through skull

3\. Lacerated fingers

4\. Sprained wrist

I'm trying to figure out where the old bullet wound on my shoulder fits into the list when I feel them attaching something over the drill point. It must be the type of receiver Amar had on his head. Everything in me screams out in protest, but I stay silent. I can't stop them, and I won't give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they're getting to me.

I'm startled by a stinging in my arm. With everything else going on, I almost missed it, but now I realize that they've just given me an injection of some sort. Presumably, it's an intensive dose of the Suggestibility Serum. At least that doesn't frighten me; I can handle serums just fine.

That must be the end of the process, because most of the soldiers leave the room at that point, and the remaining ones wait in silence. I try counting the minutes, remembering how much it bothered me in Erudite to not be able to measure the passage of time, but I have too much adrenaline running through me to count accurately. I'm probably treating every tenth of a second as a full second.

An eternity passes as the serum seeps through me. I can feel it making my thoughts fuzzy, but at least it's not an entirely bad feeling. It dulls the pain and fear and helps me relax.

I think I must drift off for a bit, because I'm vaguely surprised when hands remove my restraints and lift me off the table. For some reason, the motion hurts. That shouldn't surprise me, should it? I'm pretty sure I'm injured.

The hands set me in a chair, and the people attached to them position themselves behind me, one on either side. I blink, struggling to remember where I am and what's happening. It would be easier if my head weren't spinning so much.

Eventually, my eyes begin to focus again, and I realize that someone is sitting in another chair near me. He reminds me of someone – someone I like. Is that because I know him? I try to remember, but I can't quite place him, and after a little while, I realize it doesn't really matter. I just know that he's kind. I can trust him.

"What's your name?" he asks gently. My throat starts to form the answer immediately, but some instinct stops me. There's something odd about the way he asked the question. It takes me a second to realize what – his mouth didn't move when he spoke.

I stare at him, wondering if I imagined the question. For some reason, I feel the urge to answer it anyway, but that stubbornness inside me still says no. It tells me this is wrong. Something to do with all the wires attached to him, connecting him to a computer….

After a moment, he repeats the question, and this time I realize that somehow the man is transmitting it directly into my brain. That doesn't make sense. People can't do that, can they? But clearly he is, and now that I think about it, the idea seems familiar. I think maybe _I_ did that once.

I blink again, trying to recall when that was, and where. The words "bomb shelter" come to mind, along with images of faces. My grandmother. And Tobias. And Amar.

For some reason, the thought of Amar seems important – even more than the other two. There's some connection between him and this place. I puzzle over what it is.

The third time the man asks for my name, I finally remember. They're questioning me the way they did with Amar. I'm a prisoner like he was, and I have to do what he did. With a huge effort, I clear the fog away enough to focus. He told them a lie, to buy time for the others. It's my job now to continue that story.

My eyes turn to the man who is questioning me, and I realize I need to answer him. Anyone else in my position would, after receiving the message he's transmitting so strongly. But I need to be consistent with what Amar said, that there were only four people involved in our plot.

"I'm Margot," I gasp, surprised that it's still difficult to breathe. I'd forgotten about my ribs.

"Ah," the man responds. "Welcome to our facility, Margot." He smiles, and again I feel an enormous desire to like him, to trust him, to tell him the truth. I manage to push the impulse down, but I can already tell it will be difficult to lie completely while under this serum. It would be much easier to tell a half-truth. With a slight jolt, I realize that that's why Amar led them to our hiding spot instead of to a totally different place. I have to be stronger than that.

"Would you like to tell me why you were shooting the soldiers who serve our government?" the man asks me calmly, his voice again sounding only within my head. And I feel a message with the words. _It was wrong to do what I did. I should try to make up for it by assisting him now._

"I was trying to help my friend," I answer. It's not a complete lie.

"Which friend is that?"

"Amar. He was in their custody, and I wanted to help him be free again."

The image of Cara drifts through my mind, but I shut it down firmly. I won't reveal anything about her if I can avoid it.

"Where is Amar now?" The mental voice is soothing this time.

I have to think about that for a moment. The honest answer is that I don't know, at least not for certain, and it would be easy to say that. But I need to find a way to mislead these people, to focus their attention in the wrong direction, and this question seems like a good opportunity.

I open my mouth to begin that effort, but I'm stopped by the sound of a commotion in the hallway. My questioner turns to look, and something about his expression makes my heart rate increase. _Something is wrong._ Have they recaptured Amar, or gotten Cara? Or has something happened to the others?

Within thirty seconds, the source of the noise becomes clear as three soldiers drag a frantically struggling Caleb in between them. My heart leaps into my throat, pounding crazily as every muscle in my body tenses. _What happened? Has the mission failed completely?_ Images flood through me, thoughts of Tobias, of Christina, of Uriah. The closest people I have left in this world. Are they…dead?

Caleb's eyes are flitting wildly around the room, and I'm flipping just as quickly through thoughts, when his gaze lands on me. For a second, he simply stares, his eyes wide with panic. Then his scrutiny passes over the rest of me, taking in my injuries, and the device on my head, and my lack of restraints, and the guards standing behind me. An idea must occur to him, because I see certainty replace his fear, and a calculated act replace his struggling.

"Ha!" he laughs, looking at the soldier who was questioning me. " _We're_ the only two you caught? Well, the joke's on you because four of them got away, and you can't catch them!" His eyes turn to me again as he adds intensely, "Do you hear that? _Four_ got away!"

Too many emotions catch in my throat at that statement, because I know exactly what he means, and why he's telling me that. Tobias is alive, and we have to buy him time to get to the Control Computer. And Caleb doesn't think he's resistant enough to do that. As his eyes hold mine, I understand what he wants me to do. He's asking me to kill him for the sake of everyone else. For the sake of the mission. For the sake of everyone back home. For _Tobias'_ sake. And maybe for mine.

My Erudite brother has rediscovered the Abnegation inside himself, and he is choosing to sacrifice his life for it.

_But he needs me to do it for him, and I don't know if I can._ I think back to my fear landscape, when I chose to die rather than kill my family, even as they assured me I should shoot them. How can I make a different choice now, when it's real?

Caleb's eyes hold mine desperately as the soldiers begin to drag him across the room toward the metal table. And I can see how much he wants me to do this. How important it is to him not to betray me again, not to be the person who brings us all down. And realistically, I know I would want the same thing in his position.

In that moment, I fully forgive him for helping Jeanine. I forgive him, and I love him. I try to convey that with my eyes as I force my resisting body to lunge from the chair in a single, fast motion. I leap at him, moving past the surprised soldiers before they can stop me, my injured hand managing to form a tight fist despite the pain. And that fist connects – hard – with a pressure point under his jaw, the same point that Marcus hit back in Erudite a thousand years ago. As he did that day, Caleb drops like a rock, unconscious. It's the best I can do. _I can't kill him._

"Traitor!" I force myself to yell, somehow getting the sound out through my tight chest and aching ribcage. "How dare you betray our government!?"

There's a commotion as the soldiers scuttle around, trying to figure out what to do. After a few seconds, two of them grab me while two others try unsuccessfully to lift Caleb's limp form from the floor.

"He betrayed our government!" I say to the room at large. "And he was happy about it! How could he do that?" My eyes meet those of the man who was questioning me. "He should die."

The man looks startled, and completely discomposed. But he also looks like he believes me – believes that I've succumbed to the serum. I make my expression as contrite as I can as I slowly add, "I betrayed the government, too…didn't I?" He nods gravely, and I manage a sob as I moan, "Why did I do that? How could I?"

The man gestures to the soldiers to leave Caleb where he is as he turns his attention fully to me. His voice sounds aloud this time. "Exactly what were you doing?"

"I need to show you," I tell him. "Right now. We planted a bomb that will be going off soon. It's too hard to describe where it is. I need to take you there."

The man hesitates for several seconds, his gaze passing over Caleb's collapsed form and to the soldiers before he finally nods. "Okay." He begins disconnecting himself from the computer, his hands working rapidly. As he does it, he looks at the two soldiers by Caleb, gesturing to my brother with his chin. "Lock him up for now, and call Victoria in to question him once he wakes up."

As he finishes disconnecting himself, he turns his focus back to me. "Lead on," he says, holding his hand out, palm up, and I move forward, my two guards loosely flanking me as I make my way out of the building and into the city beyond, heading for the only place I can think of at the moment: the doctor's office where we stole the vaccines. It will draw the soldiers away from Tobias – and from Caleb. It will buy them the time they need.


	38. Chapter 38: Tobias - Determinant

Determinant

[dih-tur-muh-nuhnt]

noun

1\. A factor that decisively affects the nature or outcome of something

2\. Biology: a gene or other factor that determines the character and development of a cell or group of cells in an organism, a set of which forms an individual's idiotype

3\. Mathematics: a quantity obtained by the addition of products of the elements of a square matrix according to a given rule

adjective

Serving to determine or decide something

** Chapter 38: Tobias – Determinant **

The alarm still blares as we dart down narrow hallways between rows of cubicles, gray panels surrounding us in all directions. Their walls are a couple of inches shorter than I am, which has its pros and cons. I have to keep my head ducked down as we run to make sure I'm not seen, but as we reach each "intersection," all I have to do is stand on my toes to peer over the corner, checking if the way ahead is clear. It feels safer looking from above like that – I know from years of being taller than average that people tend to look straight ahead and miss movements that are higher up.

We cover quite a bit of ground without encountering anyone, and I'm beginning to think that the alarm is only sounding because Margot and Peter are attacking the twentieth floor, and that they succeeded in giving us a free path here. But we certainly can't rely on that. So little has gone right on this mission that it would be foolish to assume now is any different.

As we prepare to turn left again, that pessimism proves to be accurate. There's a soldier standing guard halfway down the hallway we want, machine gun in hand. Shit. There weren't any soldiers on this floor when I checked the cameras earlier – just security guards – but his uniform and gun are different from those. Reinforcements have obviously been sent to this floor, which means something has gone very wrong. For a moment, I can't help but worry about the others, but I push it away. Either they're alive or they're not – letting the thought distract me helps no one.

Christina starts to step forward, gun ready, but I throw my arm out to block her while I try to think of how to proceed. Unfortunately, our choices are limited. The soldier is too far away for a clean shot with our handguns, but we're well within range of his machine gun, so it's a bad idea to fire at him. If we can get across this "intersection" without being seen, we can take the next left instead, since the hallways form a grid system through this whole area. But it's unlikely that all three of us can cross here without him seeing us. Besides, there's probably someone in the next corridor too. We're very close to the Control Computer at this point, so it's a sure bet that every hallway is guarded.

No, somehow we need to find a way to get close to the soldier without being noticed. My eyes roam to my companions automatically, looking out of habit for _her_ to come up with an idea. But she's not here, and it's hardly surprising that Marcus and Christina seem to be as clueless as I am. I force my gaze away from them, turning to the sea of cubicles around us, and slowly a thought begins to form. Maybe it's possible to go over instead of around….

I do some quick mental calculations, pausing as I remember that Christina's leg isn't fully healed yet and that my father is twenty years older than I am. I guess this task is up to me.

"Wait here," I say, speaking just loudly enough for them to hear me over the sound of the alarm. Christina shakes her head immediately, frowning, and Marcus grips my arm to stop me. I try not to wince, knowing that he's not planning to hurt me right now – it's more the opposite. They feel the need to protect me, so I can complete this mission. But there's no time for that.

"I know what I'm doing," I tell them firmly, pulling myself free and moving quickly back the way we came. I try to picture this floor from a bird's eye view, thinking of it as city blocks on a grid, and I picture the location of the Control Computer on that mental map, along with the soldier I need to reach. I turn right into the next hallway, moving halfway up the "block" before I stop. If I've estimated this correctly, the soldier should be one "block" – or two cubicles – to my right. There's no direct hallway between us, but that works to my advantage.

I step into the cubicle on my right, climbing on the desk and peering over its back wall. As expected, there's an adjoining cubicle on that side. From here, I can't see the soldier, but hopefully that means he can't see me either. In a single fluid motion, I swing myself over the partition wall and onto the desk on the other side of it. I'm only exposed above the wall for a second.

Crouching down, I move along the L-shaped desk until I can peer over the wall into the hallway beyond. Sure enough, the soldier is there, roughly ten feet away, his back to me as he surveys the corridor. I'm aiming as he turns around, but it's clear he doesn't see me. He's too busy looking down the hallway at the usual height, watching for threats from the only directions he expects. He dies without ever knowing I'm there.

After he falls, I wait for a moment to see if anyone else comes, but the coast stays clear. The noise of the alarm must have sufficiently covered the gunshot. I drag the body into the cubicle, hiding him to make our presence on this floor less obvious, and I take his gun and ammunition. It's far superior to the handguns we have, particularly with our diminishing supply of bullets.

Checking one more time for enemies, I race back to collect Christina and Marcus. They jump as I round the corner from this direction, clearly uncertain how I got here, but at least they don't shoot me. I hand Christina the machine gun and ammunition before leading the way down the corridor, past the dead soldier and beyond. We're so close to our goal now – I know from the broadcast earlier that we just need to take a right at the end of this hallway, and the room will be one "block" down, on the left.

Nervous excitement builds as we reach the end of the hallway. I'm so ready for this whole mission to be done. But as I peer over the corner to the right, and I can finally see the door we want, my excitement changes to dread. There are too many people there. The cameras only showed two guards earlier, but since then they've been joined by a group of soldiers who are watching all directions. There's no good way for us to approach.

Gesturing to Marcus and Christina, I move back a little ways and into the shelter of a cubicle, quickly explaining what I saw. Their expressions are grim.

"Can't we take another hallway?" Christina asks. "There are a bunch of them that run parallel to this one."

My father shakes his head at the same time I do, and I ignore the sick feeling that goes through me at the unintentional mirroring. I keep acting like him today, and that's the one thing I've always most wanted to avoid.

"There will be guards in those hallways, too," Marcus states flatly. "And we still need to get into the room itself, so we must pass through the soldiers regardless."

Christina turns to me, clearly annoyed by the vague scorn on my father's face. "How did you get around that soldier earlier?" she asks.

For some reason, the question makes me smile, just a bit. I guess it's because one of _her_ friends is talking to me again. I point to the back of the cubicle as I respond. "I jumped the wall from the next hallway over."

For a full second, Christina stares at me, clearly wondering why she didn't think of something that simple, and then she grins with what I can only describe as Dauntless appreciation of a good stunt. I can't help grinning back.

But what catches my attention is the way my father is watching me. I have _never_ – not once in my life – seen him look at me with approval, but he is now. I have no idea how to react.

"I believe that gives us a plan," he states with a trace of pride. "The two of you can use that technique to get to the next hallway, which will place you right outside the entrance to the Control Computer. Once you are there, I will begin attacking the soldiers from the end of this hallway. That should cause sufficient distraction for Tobias to cross the next hallway and leap to the one beyond it." He looks at me as he continues. "Once you are there, you should begin firing too. With attacks coming from both sides, the guards are likely to abandon the door itself, which is too exposed. They will enter the hallway where Christina is, to use it as shelter from our attacks, and she can take them out from behind."

We're silent for a moment, digesting that. It's a good plan, all things considered, though I don't like that Christina is getting the riskiest part of it. Still, I'm not sure there's a choice. She's undoubtedly a better shot than my father, and none of this will amount to anything if I don't get to that computer. It makes sense for her to take the role Marcus is suggesting.

But unlike my father, I'm not willing to _order_ someone on what could be a suicide mission, so instead I meet Christina's eyes and wait for her to voice an opinion. Her response is what has always been best about my second faction. The corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile as she says, "Good thing I know how to be brave." She straightens her head and shoulders with unmistakable Dauntless pride, and despite myself, I smile a little back. At times like this, I think maybe there's something to be said for the factions after all.

I nod, moving a few more cubicles down, Christina at my heels, before I repeat my stunt of leaping the partition. She follows me with almost no difficulty, and I feel bad about judging her by her leg injury earlier. She hasn't let it stop her yet this entire trip.

We crouch out of sight, waiting for Marcus to begin firing. It doesn't take long. I wait another minute to ensure he has the guards' full attention, listening to their shouting and the sound of return gunfire before I peer over the top of the wall. No one is looking this way, so I go quickly, crossing the hallway in a single flash of movement. I wait again, my heart pounding. If anyone saw me, this whole plan goes to hell. But there's no change in the sounds, and after another minute, I dare to check again. We're still clear.

In an instant, I'm on the desk and over the next partition and am looking at the soldiers from that hallway. Their attention is on my father, so I take the opportunity to race to the end cubicle, sheltering inside it and firing carefully over the wall. I take two of them out before they realize they've come under attack from a second source. They're clearly having trouble spotting me, and I catch a third one before the others back away, retreating toward the hallway where Christina is hidden. It's working….

It doesn't take long before the sound of a machine gun begins from Christina's position, followed by more yelling and the sound of footsteps scattering.

It's difficult to tell in which direction they're running, but after another moment I risk peering over the wall again. The guards and soldiers have conglomerated close to Marcus' position, apparently deciding that's the least deadly option. They're aiming everywhere, shifting wildly back and forth as they attempt to defend themselves. They clearly have no idea that they still outnumber us.

I eliminate one more before I'm startled by the sound of gunfire coming from right beside my cubicle. From this angle, I can't see the shooter.

Carefully, I slip down from the desk and make my way to the entrance of the cubicle, looking around the doorframe with my gun extended and my heart pounding. An enormous surge of relief goes through me as I recognize Uriah and Peter's backs. They're standing at the edge of the "intersection," using the outer walls of my cubicle as shelter while they fire around the corner at our enemies. I don't know where they came from, or how long they've been nearby, but I'm more than a little glad to see them.

"It's Four," I say loudly enough for them to hear me over the sound of the wailing alarm and the continued gunfire as I step closer to them. Despite my words, they spin toward me, guns raised, before realizing I'm who I said I was.

Uriah's face breaks into a huge grin. "Thank God," he says. "I thought _I_ was going to have to do the broadcast."

I smile back briefly, but I don't take the time to answer, not while the others are still under fire. Instead, I zip back into the cubicle so I can resume firing over its wall. Peter follows me, imitating my technique to shoot from right beside me while Uriah continues to battle from the hallway. To my left, I can still hear the sound of Christina's machine gun.

It only takes a few more minutes to eliminate the remaining troops. I remain in position, covering my father and Christina as they emerge from their hiding spots to ensure everyone is dead. My father removes a machine gun from one of the lifeless soldiers, training it on the others as he checks them. When he finally turns toward us and gives the all-clear signal, I feel a swoop of victory going through my gut. We may succeed at this thing after all.

I don't see what happens next, because I'm in the process of hopping down from the desk and moving toward the cubicle entrance. But I hear the sudden sound of multiple machine guns and Marcus' voice shouting orders. By the time I scramble back up to where I can see, my father and Christina have both disappeared from view, and I catch just a glimpse of several soldiers following them down the hallway Marcus was hiding in earlier. Reinforcements have obviously arrived, and the two of them are drawing the attack away from us. More accurately, away from me. They're giving me this chance to get to the computer, and I hesitate only a second before taking it.

Peter follows me without question as I leap down from the desk and race into the hallway, heading straight for the Control Computer. Uriah looks torn for a second as I pass him, obviously hating to leave the others in so much danger, but he comes too.

I'm in the doorway when I hear my father's cry of pain. Somehow, it carries to me over the sounds of the alarm and the pat-pat-pat of the machine guns. Maybe it's because I spent so many years listening for his voice, trying to avoid hearing it filled with anger, or maybe there's some instinct that connects us to family at times like this, no matter what they've done to erase that title. Either way, his scream carries to me, and in that instant, I know that he's been shot. And a moment later, something inside me knows, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that he's dead.

I've imagined my father's death many times during my life. As a boy, I fantasized about killing him, about getting rid of my tormentor once and for all. When Abnegation was attacked, I was sure his time had come, and I was even more certain after the Erudite found us in Amity. And each time, I had no idea how to feel. Now, despite the fact that time seems to have stopped, and it seems like I have forever to decide how I should react, I still don't know. All of his wrongs seem to be at war with the approval in his eyes the last time he looked at me, and the fact that he died as he asked the others to do – for this mission. And maybe for me. I can at least honor that sacrifice.

Holding my gun in front of me, I enter the Control Room. Fortunately, there's no one here, and I practically dive for the equipment, my fingers racing to set everything up as quickly as possible. It's not difficult, since the apparatus is familiar to me from the broadcast and since it's not that different from the equipment we practiced on back in the bomb shelter.

"Give me a hand!" I snap at Uriah. We can set this up faster with two of us. But he still doesn't move, and I finally glance up, startled to see him aiming his weapon at Peter. The two of them are glaring at each other, each targeting the other.

" _Four_ is doing the transmission," Uriah states tensely. "Got that?" It takes a second, but then I understand his concern. For whatever reasons, he thinks that Peter wants to do the broadcast in my place. I can't say it occurred to me before, but now that I think about it, that seems like a Peter kind of thing to do. After all, he could put himself in charge of the entire country that way. It might even be why he wanted to come on this mission.

I pause as I wonder if this is going to be a problem. But then Peter's eyes narrow and he responds, "Of course he does it." He deliberately turns away from Uriah and aims his gun at the door. "You think I want to be responsible for a nation's morality?"

I don't know whether to believe him or not, but I've already spent too long debating this. My fingers go back to work, racing to finish this thing once and for all. I'll have to trust that Uriah can keep Peter under control.

It only takes a minute to finish the prep work, and then I practically leap into the control chair, slapping electrodes onto the appropriate spots on my head before I reach out and press the final key on the computer. I should be "live" now.

At that exact moment, the door bursts open, gunshots ringing out. My muscles tense.

"Stop!" I shout, mentally and vocally. "Stop shooting each other. Stop killing. Stop hurting people. Just stop everything and listen to me." The room goes silent, only the sound of the alarm carrying in from beyond the door. But I don't look to see what just happened. I can't afford any distractions right now.

"It is time to change things," I continue fiercely, putting as much feeling into the signal as I can. This part of the message is what Anna taught me back in the bomb shelter, and I remember her emphasis that the message has to be strong to work. So, I do the only thing I can to make it powerful – I let myself think of Tris, letting her image fill me with conflicting emotions. And I draw strength from her as I always have.

"Your government has been lying to you. For your entire life, they have been manipulating you through broadcasts like this one. You were never allowed to talk about it, but you know you have been receiving these transmissions every day. They have been telling you what to think, and how to behave, and who to be. That ends _now_."

"It is time for every single one of you to rise up and reclaim your government – and your freedom. Every soldier in the NUSA military should return to this country. Chicago is _not_ a threat to you, and you must not attack it. Instead, you need to take your leaders into custody. They must face trial for the crimes they have committed against all of you. It is your job now to arrest them and to keep them in prison where they cannot harm anyone else. Do not obey any more orders from them, ever again!"

I almost begin the next part of the message out of habit, from all the times I repeated it in the bomb shelter. I know exactly what I'm supposed to say – the names I'm supposed to put in charge and what I'm supposed to say about them – but I stop short of actually delivering that part. The problem is that I still don't believe in it fully, and that means it won't be strong enough to work. And the doubts I had an hour ago are still there. How do I know I can trust these people to be any better than the leaders I'm ousting?

I cast my mind around, trying to come up with an alternative, wishing again that Tris was here. She would know what to say. But I stuck myself with this job the moment I slammed my fist into her. Suddenly, Peter's words echo in my head. _You think I want to be responsible for a nation's morality?_ I don't want that any more than he does, but that's exactly what I need to do. I need to provide something to help these people move forward, something to replace the ethics their corrupt government instilled in them. Something to make them care about others and to give them the tools to build a better future.

In that moment, an idea clicks into place, and I know immediately that it's what I need to do. It goes against every instinct I have for guarding my privacy and keeping my secrets, but it's unquestionably the right choice.

"It will be difficult to form a new government," I broadcast as powerfully as I can. "But this is also an opportunity to create a better life for all of you. To do that, you must all work together. More than that, you must learn to reach beyond what you have been taught. You must learn to be a better person, to be the person you would have been if your government had not manipulated you. That is not easy, but you can begin by embracing five traits."

I let Tris' image fill my mind again, even more fully than a moment ago. I focus on all the things she does right, all the things that make her unique, all the things that I love about her. And then I begin. The first words are for myself as much as for the millions of people I'm addressing.

"Be brave."


	39. Chapter 39: Tris – One Choice Changes Everything

 

**Chapter 39: Tris – One Choice Changes Everything**

The soldiers stay near me as we walk, but at least they don't hold my arms like they did earlier. That helps, since by now it's extremely difficult to move. My ribs are throbbing with a level of pain I've never experienced in my life, and knives of agony are spreading from there into my lungs, causing me to breathe raggedly.

I'm beginning to suspect that I have more than a cracked rib. As a guess, at least one is completely broken, and being lifted and dragged the way I was must have caused the bones to split farther apart. It feels like they're now digging into places where ribs should never be.

But I can't let it stop me. I have to buy Tobias the time he needs to reach the Control Computer, so I keep hobbling forward, leading my enemies away from the people I love.

Eventually, I lose all sense of time. There's nothing except the current moment and the torture of taking another step. That reality consumes me so completely that I almost don't notice when the signal comes, indicating that a broadcast is starting. It's not until I'm standing still, facing the same direction as everyone else, that my mind fully registers what's happening, and a surge of hope goes through me. Please be Tobias. _Please._ I almost sob with relief when it is.

"Stop!" he shouts inside my mind. "Stop shooting each other!" The message is overwhelming, and every muscle in my body freezes in place. For the first time, I understand what broadcasts are like for other people – it's impossible to move right now, impossible to do anything except listen.

"Stop killing. Stop hurting people. Just stop everything and listen to me." And everyone does. I can tell that even though I can't make my eyes move. The air is charged with attention, and through it I can hear that people are barely breathing. Everyone in this country is focusing on Tobias.

"It is time to change things," he says even more intensely, starting the message that Anna taught us. I listen as raptly as everyone else, unable to do anything different. I don't know how much of that is because I'm loaded up with Suggestibility Serum, and how much is because of the potent receiver attached to my head, and how much is just Tobias, but his transmission is _far_ more powerful than the ones I heard earlier from Dan Miter. They don't even seem to be the same phenomenon.

It's not until he's a third of the way through Anna's message that I realize just what this means. _We've succeeded._ Somehow, against all odds, we've completed this impossible mission.

A jump of victory goes through me, and I find myself following Tobias' words back to the rest of his thoughts. I'm not seeking information the way I did with the earlier broadcasts; I just want to feel close to him at this moment of triumph.

_He's thinking about **me** ,_ I realize abruptly _._ I'm sure no one else can detect it, the same way they couldn't see the "extra" information in any other broadcast, but I can see the way he's holding my image in his mind. And I can't help but notice every nuance of love and regret and worry that he currently associates with me.

But there's more to it than that. I can actually see myself through his eyes, can see the way he views me. And it's not what I expected.

I suppose I never really believed Tobias when he said that he liked the way I looked. It's not that I thought he was lying, exactly, but I assumed he was trying to spare my feelings. Or maybe I felt he didn't see me realistically, as if he was looking at me through rose-colored glasses. But it's not like that at all.

He sees me as I am – it's the same image I glimpse in the mirror, other than being reversed and viewed from a greater height. What's different is how he perceives that image. I've always felt that my eyes are too wide for my narrow face, but he loves the way they absorb him, the way the blue and gray play back and forth, surrounding the black pupils in a mixture of my three aptitudes. They capture every part of him in a way that nothing else ever has, making him feel awake and alive. Without a doubt, they're as fiercely attractive to him as his eyes are to me.

He pays almost as much attention to my lips, which I have barely ever thought about. I can sense how they draw him in with their taste and texture, and for the first time, I see them as an appealing feature.

To him, my face isn't narrow; it's the perfect size to frame with his hands, and he loves the way my hair moves back and forth over it, revealing and hiding bits of me in turn. He likes the color of my hair, too. To me, it's an uninteresting dirty blond, but he sees the multiple colors as adding depth and a sense of mystery to my appearance. Even my long nose is different in his eyes. From his height, it's a cute contrast to his own hooked one.

But most of all, I notice how he sees my small frame, the one that makes me feel like I'm twelve…. To him, it's perfect, as if everyone else wastes resources by using a larger body to accomplish less, while I selflessly pack the maximum amount of strength and vitality into the minimum possible space.

The revelation floors me, and for a moment, all I can do is mentally stare as if seeing my reflection for the first time ever. I remember Tobias saying once, back in the bomb shelter, that if I could see myself through his eyes I wouldn't doubt myself. I didn't really believe him at the time, but I do now. And it's a fantastic feeling.

I'm still "staring" when I realize that Tobias has paused in his message. For some reason, he's struggling with the next part, the part about how to set up the new government and who to put in charge. It takes me a moment to figure out that he just doesn't believe in what he's supposed to say. Again, I doubt anyone else can detect it, but it's clear to me.

And I can understand his doubts. I remember the names Anna taught us, and I know she believes in their ability to do the job, but we've never met them. We have no way of knowing how trustworthy they are, or if they're even still alive, or how much they've been influenced by the existing government. For all we know, they're as greedy and self-serving as the current leaders of NUSA, or the ones in Chicago for that matter.

But what choice do we have? I know I thought about putting Anna in charge, and maybe I would have if I'd been the one to reach the Control Computer, but she would undoubtedly just turn everything over to the others anyway. We could pick someone else from Chicago, I guess, but it's not like we have great choices there either. Marcus? Tori? Jack Kang? They're certainly not stellar options to lead a country they don't even know. A pang goes through me as I think about my father. If he were still alive, I'd trust him. Or my mother, for that matter. But as it is, I think we have to take a chance on the names Anna gave us.

Tobias apparently disagrees. I can feel him coming to a different conclusion, though I can't tell what it is – just that he doesn't like it. But grim certainty sets in, and I know he's made his choice, for better or worse.

"It will be difficult to form a new government," he says, and as it was before, the message is immensely strong. "But this is also an opportunity to create a better life for all of you. To do that, you must all work together. More than that, you must learn to reach beyond what you have been taught. You must learn to be a better person, to be the person you would have been if your government had not manipulated you. That is not easy, but you can begin by embracing five traits."

Five traits…. My mind flashes to the five factions, and in that moment I understand where he's going with this. But then confusion sets in again as he forms an even clearer image of me, showing it to everyone this time. I don't know why.

"Be brave," he says, delivering the words with a stunning level of power.

And then my mind fills with memories of myself, seen from Tobias' viewpoint. I see myself leaping into the net in Dauntless, braving the unknown while everyone else hangs back in fear. And then I'm staring fiercely into his eyes at a dining table, instead of backing away like others always have. I'm standing up again and again as Peter punches and kicks and tries to defeat me, but I refuse to just lie down and be beaten. Tobias is following me up the Ferris wheel to spot the enemy's flag, watching in fascination as I risk myself to help my team. He watches again as I face fear after fear in the simulations, each time emerging victorious in record time. The chasm is roaring behind me as I fight against three boys far larger than myself, refusing to let them destroy my spirit even as they almost take my life.

The images go on and on, each one coming through as a full concept that is somehow complete and understandable. I would not have guessed it was possible to convey something like this to strangers, but somehow Tobias is doing it. And I know – I _know_ – that it makes sense to them.

He is teaching them bravery by using me as an example. Part of me realizes I should find this embarrassing, but his transmission is so overwhelming that I can't think past it. All I can feel is his pride in me, and his certainty that I am the role model they should follow.

"Be selfless," he continues just as strongly, and the images shift.

I am standing in front of a target, knives thudding into place around my head so that Al does not have to brave them instead. My small form is between Tobias and his father as I unwrap Marcus' belt from my wrist after taking the blow that was meant for him. My gun is pressed against Eric's head, exposing myself to danger to prevent him from shooting my boyfriend.

I am pressing another gun into Tobias' hand, offering to let him kill me rather than take his life when he is under a simulation. A little girl slips to safety at my signal, fleeing from Dauntless traitors who want to kill her, just before Eric captures me instead. I am strapped to a table in Erudite, suffering fear beyond imagining in order to protect the lives that Jeanine would have taken.

I lose count of how many images Tobias shows before he decides he has transmitted the lesson sufficiently, but I know it is more than enough.

"Be smart."

The Ferris wheel is back again, towering behind me as I describe a plan to my team – one that leads to victory. Then, I'm fighting Molly, using a few bits of advice to overcome her far greater size and strength. And I'm standing before Eric, instantly understanding Tobias' wordless message and pretending to be weak to keep my friends safe. My fear landscape passes by in record time as I figure out how to overcome every fear as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Tobias is poring over video clips from the war, seeing how I guessed where the simulation was being run from and managed to get there despite all odds to stop it.

Then, Tobias is listening to me work out the reason Candor was attacked, and watching in frustration as Jack Kang refuses to listen to it. I'm shouting about Evelyn's manipulations before jumping from the train, and I feel Tobias' regret that he ignored my warning. He's finding me in Erudite, after I worked my way there with far fewer casualties than everyone else. We're crossing a rope strung between buildings, in harnesses I designed. Lauren and a dozen rebels are leaving Pittsburgh in our truck and uniforms, following my idea away from certain death. A store owner in Pittsburgh is staring at me, distracted, as others drink the water that would have caused Pari to betray us.

"Be kind."

I expect Tobias to find another role model for this trait, now that he's past my three aptitudes, but instead I'm watching from his viewpoint as Robert hugs me by the fence, and I see the expression on his fellow Amity as that gesture cements his place with them. Then, I'm comforting Edward as blood runs from his eye, and cleaning the dorm afterwards so the others won't have to do it. For a split second, I wonder how Tobias even knows about that, but I don't have time to dwell on the thought since he continues without hesitation, taking me with him.

I'm standing back while Christina grabs the flag, letting her share the victory I earned. My hand rests on Will's arm as we walk higher and higher, lending him strength that Dauntless won't let him admit he needs. I'm launching myself at Peter to push him out of the way of a bullet, despite everything he's done. I'm avoiding Christina so she won't have to face the person who killed her boyfriend. Tobias is being elected to leadership because I refuse my nomination.

Zeke is smiling as he tells Tobias about a conversation with me – about how I convinced him Shauna can stay in Dauntless despite her paralysis. I'm looking into Tobias' eyes, telling him that he is the best person I know, when he's sure it isn't true. We're rescuing Caleb, saving his life despite his betrayal – and then I'm giving him the chance to earn forgiveness. The memory sends a twinge through me, as I think of where my brother is now, but Tobias moves on, and I see myself helping Lauren even as I feel jealous of her.

"Be honest."

This is my weakest area, but there's no pause before the images start. I'm leaning on the wall outside the dorm as I observe that Eric acts the way he does because he's afraid of losing his power. We're by the chasm, Tobias watching my lips as I ask if having to see his father again is the reason he doesn't want to be a leader. I'm standing between Marcus and his son while telling Caleb that not all of the Erudite articles were lies. Jack Kang is foolishly dismissing me as I tell Candor why they were attacked. Tobias is just as foolishly ignoring my attempts to say that his father knows something we need to learn.

I'm facing Tobias, explaining why I led Marcus into Erudite as he tries to close his ears to my words. Amanda Ritter's video is playing, exposing a truth to the entire city because of me. Tobias is listening, shocked, as I tell him that Evelyn said I was only temporary, and as I explain that sometimes the "truth" people tell is really just their opinion. Anna is sitting at her desk, admitting how much the rebels manipulated Chicago, after I showed her that reality in my test "broadcast." And most importantly, I'm volunteering to come on this dangerous mission in order to expose the truth about NUSA to every person who's listening.

With the final example, Tobias finally pauses, letting the honesty of his message sink in.

"I have told you the truth today," he continues after a moment. "Now, it is time for you to accept that truth and to build a new path forward, one that includes everyone in this country."

And at last the images shift away from me. My mind is flooded now with pictures of the countless shelters we've seen in the past few days, and the people huddled in them against the cold. I see so many of the empty eyes and hungry bodies and broken spirits we've passed by here and in Pittsburgh. Tobias' pain spikes through me at a sound we've heard over and over here, of a hand striking someone, followed by the sobbing of a woman or child.

He contrasts that against the mansions we saw on the way into the city. And a beautiful building that I realize is where he is now. And the people we saw eating and drinking casually while starving children watched.

"This is _wrong_ ," Tobias stresses. "This is _not_ the way the world should be. You need to take better care of each other than this." He pauses briefly, and I can feel him fighting his own emotions.

"When you see someone who is hurt, or starving, or freezing, _help them_ ," he continues adamantly. "When you see people beating their family, _do something_ about it _._ We are all human beings, and we deserve better."

Again, he falls silent, struggling even more with himself. I can tell that there's one more truth he feels the need to reveal, but he doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. And suddenly I want so much to tell him that he doesn't have to, that he's done enough. But the transmission is one-way. He can't hear me.

I'm still biting my lip when I feel him swallow hard, shaking a little, before he finds the strength to continue.

He is a child, watching Marcus beat his mother. Sobs are wracking through his body, and he is pleading with his father to stop. He tries to step forward to intervene, but he is so afraid. He has felt those fists pound into him before, and he can't bear that pain…. But he also can't stand to let his mother feel it. He curls his arms around himself, sinking into a ball on the floor, feeling his cowardice as he cries and cries. And as the anguish echoes through him, he knows it will never end.

I don't think I have ever felt anything more urgently than I do in this moment. Every single cell in my body frantically wants to step in, to somehow stop this _now_ and to keep it from ever happening again, to anyone. And I understand why Tobias is sharing this memory. Everyone in the country must be feeling that same urge. They now all grasp the perspective of that child.

" _Do something_ ," he repeats so strongly that every muscle in my body tenses.

"Do something before the cycle repeats, before that child grows up and does the same thing." And I see from his perspective as his fist smashes against me. His remorse is overpowering, so intense I can barely remain standing, and I hear gasps from the people around me despite how firmly the broadcast holds them in place.

"Do better than that," he finally whispers. "Be better people than that."

For a second, I think he's finished, and I know from the total silence of the world around me that he has said enough. But he doesn't seem to think so. With a huge effort, he pulls himself together and continues.

"Follow Tris' example. Let her help you build a new government, and make it work for everyone…. _She_ is your new President."

**_What?!_ **

With that, the broadcast finally ends, Tobias' image slipping from our minds. But for a long moment, we all continue standing in stunned silence.

_What the hell did he just do?_ I can't be President. I'm only sixteen, and I have no experience with leadership – no idea what I'm doing. I haven't even lived in this country.

For a second, I hope against hope that the final part of the broadcast didn't work, but then I see faces turning toward me. The soldiers who were guarding me ten minutes ago now stare at me, and I hear their voices start.

"It's the President."

"She's injured."

"We have to help her."

"Madam President, let us help you. Please."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of duty pulling me down. I don't want this. I don't I don't I don't. But the Abnegation always taught that power should be given to those who don't want it. And I just finished admitting to myself that there are no good choices for this position. At least I know I can trust myself….

I breathe as deeply as I can through my broken ribs before I open my eyes. "Yes, you can help me," I say hoarsely, looking at the eager expressions that surround me. "I need to get to the command center, wherever that is. And I want to make sure my friends are safe."


	40. Chapter 40: Tobias – Impact

** Chapter 40: Tobias – Impact **

It's difficult to shut my emotions off after I end the broadcast. I badly want to sit here and let myself break down, the way I did back in the bomb shelter after showing Caleb _that_ memory. But I'm not alone this time, and I won't show that kind of weakness in front of others. It's ridiculous, I know, since I just relayed my feelings to the entire country, but the habit is still too ingrained to fight.

So, I force the feelings down, my eyes dry as I look around the room. What I see catches my attention.

Four soldiers are crowded in the doorway, staring at me with something akin to awe. They're not moving, and I can only assume that they're no longer threats. If my transmission worked, they shouldn't be.

However, they're not the only concern. Peter is lying on the floor, blood pooling from a wound on his side as Uriah crouches next to him, pressing his hands to the injury. That must have been the commotion I heard as I started the transmission.

I jump from the chair, heading toward them quickly, but I'm immediately tangled by all the wires that still connect me to the Control Computer. They rip at my skin in multiple places at once, jerking me back to the seat. I growl a little in frustration, grabbing a handful of wires and yanking hard, but that approach is as ineffective as it is painful.

Reluctantly, I slow down, working the electrodes off one at a time. And then something unexpected happens. One of the soldiers walks over to me, her expression hesitant.

"Let me help," she says, reaching for the wires as she watches my face to make sure I don't object. I stare at her for a second, uncertain how to respond, but she's clearly not attacking me, and I could honestly use some assistance. So, I nod, letting her pull the wires from my left side while I deal with the ones on the right.

As we're working, the other soldiers seem to come alert too. "I'll grab an emergency kit," one of them declares abruptly before racing from the room.

"I should get a stretcher, right?" the third one asks. At first, I think he's talking to the room in general, and I'm about to respond when the fourth soldier does it for me.

"Yes, quickly," he states sharply. He must be in charge.

I watch him closely as he begins moving toward Peter. It's hard to predict what he'll do, all things considered. But he just crouches down opposite Uriah as if he's as unsure how to proceed as the rest of us. I suppose he is.

"I think that's all of them," my helper says, and I realize I'm finally free of the wires. Good. In two long strides I'm across the room and crouched beside Uriah, looking levelly at the soldier.

He looks back for a few long seconds before saying, "I'm Levi." Gesturing to the woman who helped me, who is now starting to crouch beside him, he adds, "And this is Em."

I nod slowly. "Four," I respond. "That's Uriah, and Peter."

Levi nods too, his eyes barely touching on Uriah before we all turn our attention to Peter. His eyes are wide, darting fearfully between us. He tries to say something, but he's breathing too rapidly, and it just comes out as gibberish.

"Don't try to talk," I tell him firmly, trying uselessly to evaluate his wound through Uriah's hands. All I can see is blood. Hopefully, that makes the injury seem worse than it really is.

"I need to see the damage," Levi says calmly, gently pulling Uriah's hands away, and we all look.

The gunshot hole is near the edge of the abdomen, high enough that the bullet probably grazed a rib, or went through one. But in that position, there's a chance it missed the organs.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Uriah asks urgently. I'm vaguely surprised by his concern. A few minutes ago, he was pointing his gun at Peter, but now he seems truly upset. I suppose he's thinking of all the people we've lost within the last month.

Levi makes a noncommittal sound. "I've seen worse," he says, "but we'll need to get him to the hospital." He pulls his overshirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against the wound to slow the bleeding. Em reaches out to help him hold the compress in place, her expression serious. It's somewhat surreal watching the people who shot Peter a few minutes ago now trying to help like this.

"He stood his ground," Uriah says abruptly, looking at me. "Honestly, I always thought he'd jump out of the way or surrender or something if it came down to it, but he didn't. He stayed Dauntless." It's probably the highest praise Uriah can offer. But then he surprises me by adding, "I think he saved my life."

I turn my gaze back to Peter, not knowing what to say. He and my father both did their duty today when I wouldn't have expected it of either one of them. And it cost them both a lot more than I thought they'd give.

Peter's breathing is still rapid, and it's obvious he's in a state of panic. I've never been good with what to say in situations like this, but his eyes lock on me, and I know I need to come up with something….

"Your mom will be safe," I finally say, remembering his explanation of why he came on this mission. It may or may not have been true, but the words are the only comfort I can offer him right now. He nods a bit frantically, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen him. He looks startlingly human.

"As soon as Marv returns with the stretcher, we'll take you to the hospital," Levi says reassuringly. "The trip will be a bit rough, but we'll get you there." Peter stares at him with a wild mix of emotions, but either he still can't talk or he has the sense not to insult the people helping him, because he stays quiet. We all do, sitting in awkward silence.

It's a relief to hear rapid footsteps approaching. I look up, expecting it to be one of the soldiers returning, but instead it's Christina. She stops in the doorway, holding a machine gun out in front of her. She looks flushed, her hair and eyes a bit wild, but she doesn't seem to be injured. Something inside me relaxes. Tris' best friend has survived this mission.

Christina takes in the odd scene, her eyes roaming over Peter to Uriah to the soldiers who are clearly helping us now and finally landing on me. She lowers her gun.

"Good broadcast," she comments finally, her voice stiff. She clearly has no idea what else to say in this bizarre situation.

"Yes, it was," Levi says, surprising me. "It gave me a lot to think about." His eyes meet mine as he adds, "I wish I'd known all that years ago. I would have made different decisions." He lowers his gaze to Peter again, and suddenly I wonder if he's the one who fired that shot. I decide not to ask.

"Are you all right?" I say to Christina instead, though I can see that she is. I guess I'm really wondering who else is wounded, or dead.

She nods, biting her lip. "Yeah," she says quietly, "but I'm afraid Marcus isn't. He…he led the soldiers away…and he was shot."

"I know," I say, not meeting her gaze. "Did he die?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

It's surprising how difficult it is to avoid eye contact in a room of this size, but I try anyway. Maybe someday I'll figure out how I feel about "losing" my father, but it won't happen today. And even when it does, I know I won't want anyone's pity for it.

"What about Margot?" I ask after a moment, trying to redirect the conversation. "Any chance she's alive?"

"She was the last I saw her, a few minutes before the broadcast," Uriah answers a bit defensively. "She, Amar, and Cara were in the north stairway."

Something sinks and lifts inside me at the same time. _Amar escaped. But if Cara is here, then…._

_"Where's Tris?"_ I demand more loudly than I intended.

Uriah's expression changes to a mix of worry and apology. "I don't know," he admits hesitantly. "There wasn't time to ask." For a split second, I just stare at him. We've been here for minutes; why didn't he say anything?

I'm on my feet and out the door before I realize I've moved, Christina scrambling out of my way to avoid a collision and then falling into step behind me. And then we're racing toward the north staircase as fast as I've ever moved in my life, my heart hammering with sheer, blinding terror.

After everything she's survived, Tris can't be dead now. She can't. _Please no._

* * *

I take the stairs three at a time, stopping only to make my way around dead bodies. I count six – all soldiers. Their bodies are draped unceremoniously over the steps, their blood making the tile slick. After what Levi just said, part of me feels bad seeing them like this. They were never really our enemy. But I can't help but be glad there are no familiar faces among them.

"Amar! Cara!" I shout, seeing no reason to stay quiet at this point.

"Up here," a woman's voice answers, and I clamber toward the sound.

Three forms stand on the landing above the twentieth floor: two in soldiers' uniforms and one I recognize from behind as Margot.

"Where is Tris?" I call as I bound up the final steps to reach them. It's torture not knowing.

The closest soldier turns toward me rapidly, reaching out to physically prevent me from stepping onto the landing.

"Wait!" she exclaims, and I'm startled to realize it's Cara. I stumble briefly, grabbing the handrail to catch my balance as I come to a full stop on the final step below the landing. My eyes focus on her, and I freeze at her expression. Something is very wrong.

It's all I can do to peer over her shoulder to see what's happening behind her. The sight is not reassuring.

Amar stands in the corner of the landing, wearing a soldier's uniform that is splattered with blood. He's on the balls of his feet as if poised for flight, his expression more agitated than I've ever seen on anyone at any time in my life. He turns back and forth in place, his hands alternately making strange gestures in the air and pawing at a device that is attached to the side of his head. Everything about his appearance is disturbing. He looks more like a mortally wounded animal than my former instructor.

As I stare at him, his eyes latch onto me, and then he begins screaming in a horrified voice. "I don't know how many! I don't know. I didn't count!" He turns away again, his hands waving even more wildly in the air as if batting something away. "So much blood," he whimpers after a moment. "So much."

I grip the handrail tightly as I stare wide-eyed, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.

"Oh, my god," Christina says from the step below me, and I start. I'd forgotten she was following me. "What did they do to him?"

"I don't think they actually did this," Cara answers fretfully. "At least, not directly."

Our confusion must show in our faces, and she opens her mouth as if to explain more, but then she shakes her head. "One thing at a time," she mutters.

She meets my eyes and says firmly, "Tris was captured a couple of hours ago." A jolt goes through me as my entire stomach clenches into a ball. "Amar didn't think we'd still be in the other building, and he led his captors there. He and I escaped, but Tris was in no shape to run." The words slice through my vital organs, a sickening reminder of what I did. If she's dead…or like Amar, because of me….

"She's probably fine," Cara continues steadfastly. "She is much more resistant than Amar, but obviously we need to find her. Particularly since you put her in charge." I nod weakly, but before I can ask where she is, we're interrupted by Amar yelling again.

He's mostly incoherent this time, though I catch the word "gun" several times. Behind Cara, I can see Margot trying to reassure him, but he seems to be oblivious to her presence. He does, however, notice me again when I come into his line of sight. "I killed them," he groans, focusing on me. "Was that right?"

Before I can figure out how to answer, he turns away again, pulling at the device on his head. At this rate, he'll rip it off soon, and who knows how much damage that will do.

"Cara, _what happened to him?_ " Christina asks again, more insistently this time.

Cara sighs. "I don't know exactly…. He was fine earlier. He got us out of the other building and had us change into these uniforms so we could get in here. And he took out everyone in our way. He was…normal the whole time. But since the broadcast, he's been like this."

She looks at him thoughtfully before turning back to us. Her voice is softer as she adds, "Your message was very strong, Four. It was necessary, of course...but I think maybe it was too much for him. We know that the questioning can sometimes cause brain damage, with such a high dose of Suggestibility Serum and such a powerful receiver…. I'm afraid that may be what happened."

I lean against the wall, feeling my muscles go limp as the full impact of what she's saying hits me. Amar has brain damage. _Because of me._

"Is it permanent?" Christina says shakily, voicing the question I can't bring myself to ask.

"I don't have enough information to answer that," Cara states. "It would help to get some brain scans, to see exactly what the serum has done."

Again, Christina is the one who speaks up, while I stand silent. "Peter has been injured. The soldiers downstairs are taking him to the hospital. We could take Amar too."

Cara nods slowly. "That would be ideal, if we can get him there." She gives him an evaluating look, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he focuses on me for the third time.

"Guns!" he shouts. "They had guns!" And he starts waving his arms again, as if fighting off bullets in the air.

I don't realize Cara is talking to me until she clamps her hands on my shoulders. "Four," she says firmly as my eyes snap to hers. "You need to take him. He's been completely unresponsive to Margot and me, but he's clearly aware of you. You're the only one who might be able to get him to the hospital."

I shake my head, not sure if I'm saying no or just trying to clear my mind enough to think. _I have to go after Tris._ Of course I do…. But I can't abandon Amar, either. There's no good way to proceed.

"Cara's right," Christina says before I can come to a conclusion. "You need to go with them, Four. Margot and I will find Tris." There's a hardness in her expression that I remember from initiation – from after Tris was attacked, and in that moment I know that she will do whatever it takes to protect her friend.

Something clicks into place at the thought, and suddenly I'm able to push the fear down and focus on what I need to do.

"Take Uriah with you," I order, "in case someone needs to carry Tris." And then I step toward Amar without a backwards glance. I have a duty to perform.

* * *

Levi insists that the fastest route to the hospital is on foot. And given how quickly he and the other soldiers carry Peter's stretcher, that's probably true – for them. But it's much slower getting Amar to walk. He only moves if I'm directly in front of him, looking at him, leading him forward with my hands on his arms. Even then, he pauses at times to shout wildly, though each time he eventually notices me again.

After a few minutes, Cara and I tell the others not to wait for us. Peter needs medical attention soon, after all. But as I watch their backs draw farther away, I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at leaving Peter in the hands of strangers – former enemies at that.

Cara walks a bit ahead of us, clearing the way and warning me whenever I'm about to run into something, since my visibility is limited by walking backwards. She also encourages me to talk to Amar, as if that's an easy thing to do. I'm not exactly chatty to begin with, let alone good at coming up with things to say in a situation like this.

But I try. Initially, I describe Dauntless – the dining hall and the cake and the thrill of jumping onto a train – but it just seems to agitate Amar even more. So, I end up turning to his other aptitude, describing the meadows and orchards around the Amity compound, going into great detail about the fruit trees. At one point, for lack of anything else to mention, I tell him about Tris being given the peace serum. He stares at me for a long time during that narrative, but it's impossible to tell how much he's actually processing.

As we get close to the hospital, Cara drops back and catches my attention.

"If you can manage alone for a bit, I should run ahead and make arrangements," she says.

I nod, understanding what she means. We'll need a quieter entrance than the Emergency Room – it would be a bad idea to march Amar into a room full of crying and bleeding people right now.

"Go ahead," I answer, and she moves off at a faster pace.

I turn back to Amar, scrounging for another suitable topic of "conversation."

"George will be glad to see you," I finally say. That seems to work – his eyes instantly focus on me.

"George?" he asks, his tone less panicked than I've heard this whole walk. He seems to think for a moment, and then he nods as he repeats, "George." The fingers of his right hand start tracing the ring on his left, and for a second a wide grin splits his face.

"Yes," I say, seizing the opportunity. "We can go back to George soon. You'll get to see him very soon."

He smiles again, fleetingly, before his face changes and he shakes his head violently. "Blood blood blood blood blood…."

"Shh, Amar, it's okay. It's okay." I rub my hands over my face, trying to think of what to say or do to calm him down again, but nothing comes. On top of that, he stops moving the moment my hands leave his arms. _God, I'm terrible at this._

But after another moment, his frightened eyes return to mine, and I resume my light hold on his wrists, leading him forward again. "You told me a little about when you and George got married," I say. "Do you remember that?" Amar stares, silent. "We were driving and talking, just the two of us. Do you remember what you said?"

"No," he answers slowly, and the word sends a surge of hope through me. He actually answered a question. He's not entirely gone.

"Well, you told me that Anna officiated at your wedding. Do you remember Anna? She's Tris' grandmother."

For a long moment, his eyes stare straight through me to some distant place. "Tris," he says softly. "I remember Tris. She played Capture the Flag."

The words sink dully into me, proof that he's still mired in my broadcast, since he never really saw her do that. Still, at least he's responding.

"Yes, she let Christina take the flag," I answer. It's hard to keep my voice steady, but I force myself to continue anyway. And I tell him about Tris – things from the broadcast as well as other memories. I'm careful to stick with lighter memories, and he watches me intently the whole time, slowly following me toward the hospital.

Eventually, Cara rejoins us and leads us into a side entrance where a few hospital workers wait for us. Amar doesn't seem to notice them as we make our way through the winding hallways, me still talking endlessly about Tris. I start to repeat myself after a while, but he doesn't seem to notice, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

The hospital staff must be keeping the corridors clear ahead of us, because we don't run into anyone else before we reach what appears to be a surgical prep room. They must be planning to remove the receiver before doing anything else. That makes sense – it probably contains metal that would get in the way of an MRI.

"See if you can get him to lie down," Cara tells me quietly, gesturing toward a bed with machines around it.

That, however, proves to be impossible. I struggle with the task for at least ten minutes before realizing it's never going to happen. Cara must reach the same conclusion, because she finally takes a needle from one of the nurses and slips behind Amar, jabbing it into his neck during one of his brief quiet moments.

He swings toward her, dangerously fast, and I instinctively leap to intervene, but fortunately the anesthetic takes effect before he can harm her. He freezes in place, looking like cement was abruptly poured into his entire body, and then he drops. My arms shoot out, managing to grab him before he hits the floor, and I haul him onto the bed instead.

But I don't watch as they prepare him for surgery. It reminds me too much of Erudite, and I don't need that image of Tris right now. Strapped to a table, ready to die….

Instead, I go looking for Peter. He saved her from that fate, after all. I at least owe him a visit.

__


	41. Chapter 41: Tris – Complications

** Chapter 41: Tris – Complications **

It's a relief when a woman stops her car and offers us a ride. I'm not sure if she recognizes me from Tobias' broadcast, or if she just wants to help someone who is obviously injured, but I'm grateful either way. By now, the agony in my ribcage has become impossible to ignore, and I know I won't be able to stay upright much longer. So, I let the soldiers help me into a seat and watch as three of them join me in the vehicle. The others will have to continue on foot.

"Madam President, you really need to go to the hospital," the soldier next to me says quietly, not for the first time.

"I know," I admit, barely managing to wheeze the words out through my lungs. I swear my breathing is getting worse. "But the command center…comes first."

She sighs, but she apparently accepts my decision because she gives directions to the driver. I stare out the window as we start moving into the growing traffic, amazed by how different everything seems from inside the car. The buildings gleam in the early rays of the morning sun, looking beautiful and untroubled. And there are no sounds of suffering or stench of misery noticeable from here. This is probably how those in charge have always seen the city, I realize. The thought makes the back of my neck prickle. It shouldn't be this easy to ignore the world on the other side of the glass.

Worries pick at my mind as we drive slowly through the city streets. I can't help but think about everything that needs to be done, and about everything that could still go wrong, and about what might have already gone wrong…. At least I know that Tobias is safe – I could tell that from his broadcast – but I'm desperate for news of the others. The selfish part of me wants to throw everything else aside and look for them now, but of course I can't. There are too many lives at stake. So, instead, I try to determine my list of priorities.

The most important thing is to make sure the attack on Chicago has been called off. Without knowing the range of the transmitters, I can't tell if Tobias' broadcast reached that far or not. I have to assume it didn't, which means I need another way to get orders to the more distant parts of the army. There must be some method that NUSA uses for that; I just have to find it.

I also need to make sure that all the former government officials are taken into custody. Tobias asked people to arrest them, but I highly doubt those leaders will just roll over and let their power be taken away. They'll fight back, and they clearly have plenty of resources to help them – weapons and vehicles and hiding places and who knows what else. It will be difficult to ensure they're all captured…or killed, I suppose.

And then there's the obvious need to start building a new government. I can't do that by myself, which means I have to figure out whose help I want, and somehow get a message to those people. Unfortunately, I can't say that a bunch of names jump to mind, but I already knew that. After all, if there were a lot of good choices for this task, Tobias wouldn't have picked me in the first place. Still, it's frustrating to realize that I'm going to have to work with a combination of strangers and people I don't like. Maybe it's always that way in life….

I sigh, trying to figure out what criteria to use when selecting people, other than my instincts. I guess it would help to have people from a variety of different backgrounds, so everyone's interests are represented. And we'll definitely need a historian – someone who can teach us about different forms of government so we can pick something that works for our situation. Something that will also hold up in the future.

And we need people who can lead. I have no desire to stay president for long, and even in the meantime, I shouldn't hold all the power. We didn't learn all that much history in school, but I remember that it's never worked out well for one person to have sole power, no matter how good their intentions are.

I mentally go through the list of people I know, whether or not I like them, trying to assess them objectively against those criteria. I don't come up with many choices on the first pass, so I repeat the process, working harder to set my feelings aside. And I begin selecting.

The easiest choices are Anna and the names she gave us. I trust her enough to assume that if we were supposed to put those people in charge, they're at least worth listening to now. I add Johanna, Amar, George, Tobias, Cara, Margot, and Caleb – assuming they're all still alive. And it makes sense to include the rebels we sent to safety from Pittsburgh.

After a considerable amount of internal debate, I add Tori and Evelyn and Jack Kang to the list. They're certainly problematic, but they each add a perspective that could be helpful. Besides, I doubt any of them will leave Chicago, so it's relatively harmless to ask them. And it might ease tensions with them.

Marcus' name keeps coming to mind, but I can't get myself to select him despite his obvious experience. I suppose if some of the others really want him, I might consider it. _Maybe._ Either way, though, I won't be the one to make the suggestion.

It's not a long list, not nearly as long as we need. Hopefully, some of the people on it will be able to suggest others they know. If not, we'll have to come up with a way to recruit additional people – maybe ask every city to nominate those who have demonstrated leadership in their neighborhoods, and then let them vote from among the nominees. I think I'll wait on that, though. Margot might have some input on whether it's a good idea and how to go about it.

Thinking about Margot tugs other thoughts into my mind, ones that I've been successfully pushing to the back. It's harder to press them away now that I've worked out the most urgent priorities. So, as we continue our slow drive through the city, I find myself worrying about Tobias and Caleb and Christina and Uriah and Margot. And even Peter. I still don't trust him, but after everything we've been through together, I don't want to find out he's dead.

I can only hope that they're all safe and are waiting by the Control Computer. I can't head after them myself yet, but maybe I can send someone there to collect them.

It will be harder to find Amar and Cara. There's no way of knowing where they went after they escaped. With the device on Amar's head, the most sensible option would have been to hide in some dark area, but that doesn't seem like something Amar would do. It seems more likely that he'd try to rescue me or help the others. If so, maybe he's with Tobias or Caleb now. I hope so. If we have to comb the city for him, it could take days.

My eyes wander around as if looking for him, and I'm surprised to realize the sun hasn't risen much since we got into the car. I guess we haven't been driving as long as it feels like. And given how slowly we're moving, we probably haven't gone far at all. This could be a long trip.

I'm about to ask how far away the command center is when we pull up to a building. The soldiers hop out, one of them coming quickly around the car to help me. I hesitate, hating as always to accept help, but I can't deny I need it. After sitting for even that short amount of time, my body no longer wants to stand, let alone walk. So, I let the soldier ease me painfully to my feet, and I lean against her as we turn toward the building.

It's the same one I left an hour ago. The one where I was questioned and where Caleb presumably still is. The command center must be here. I feel slightly foolish as I realize that explains why there were so many soldiers guarding Amar and then me. I think of Tobias' argument that it wasn't safe to rescue Amar because we had no idea what we would be facing. He was more right than I care to admit.

But at least this gives me an opportunity to check on the others.

"Get my brother," I tell one of the soldiers as I stagger toward the building. Pain tears through my lungs again, but I force myself to continue, gasping out a few words with each breath. "He's the prisoner…who was…brought in…right after me. Bring him…to the…command center…for me."

"Yes, ma'am," the man answers. His eyes are concerned as he takes in my condition, but he sounds pleased to be able to help.

"Be gentle…with him," I add, suddenly realizing that Caleb might well be injured. "He's not…a prisoner…anymore."

The soldier smiles. "Don't worry. I'll keep him safe." I nod, amazed again at how helpful all these people are now that they've been influenced by Tobias' message. I'm not sure it's right, really – it's the same kind of brainwashing NUSA did, and even stronger. But I also don't know if it's wrong. At least this way they can eventually be free, and we have a chance to build a better society. We just have to make it all worthwhile.

"My friends…are by the…Control Computer," I tell one of the other soldiers. "Do you know…where that is?" When she shakes her head, I do my best to describe the location, as succinctly as I can gasp out, and I ask her to let them know I'm safe and to bring them to me if they want. It seems to take forever to get the words out, but when I finally finish, she heads out immediately. I let the two remaining soldiers help me walk into the building.

We take the elevator to the twentieth floor, where we're joined by a set of soldiers in slightly different uniforms. They wear the same expression as all the others – the look that shows they accept me unquestioningly as their new leader. I'm starting to think that's the only expression I'll see for however long I'm in this job.

"How can we help you, Madam President?" one of them asks cordially, almost reverently.

It's even more difficult to talk now, after walking for a bit. I'm definitely getting worse. But I speak anyway.

"I need to send…some messages…to people who…might not have…heard the broadcast. Starting with…the army that's…been sent…to Chicago."

"Yes, ma'am," the soldier responds obediently, and he leads me slowly and patiently through a series of hallways and secured doors. It takes an eternity, but eventually he opens one last door and brings me into an enormous room. I can't help but gawk a little. It's filled with computers and large tables and an incredible array of equipment I've never seen before. But he doesn't look at most of it, instead guiding me across the room to a large screen.

"Please have a seat, Madam President," he tells me. "This viewer will allow you to connect to other command centers around the country, as well as to the portable communicators that the army takes with them when they travel outside our borders."

I nod, gingerly easing my aching body onto the wooden chair. Vaguely, I wonder if I'll be able to get up again when I've finished here, but I don't let myself focus on that right now. Instead, I turn my attention to the soldier as he begins explaining how this equipment works.

It takes a while to get the hang of it. I'm just grasping the basics when the door on the other side of the room opens, and I see Caleb being led in. Relief floods through me. _My brother is safe._ I'm not sure what my parents would think of everything we've done in the last few days, but I know they would be glad of that much.

Caleb is looking around in awe, the same way I did at first, and I smile slightly as I watch him. But then he turns to the side, and I see that he has a device on his head like mine. A stab of fear goes through me. _How much serum did they give him? Did he betray me again?_ I try to push the thought away, slowing my heartbeat the way I did in my fear landscape. It doesn't matter what he did or didn't say. At this point, we've won, and Tobias' broadcast should have reversed any influence NUSA had on him. _I hope so anyway._

"Beatrice!" he exclaims as his eyes find me, and his face lights up with more joy than I've ever seen in him before. It's a strange effect, and for a moment I'm not sure if it's reassuring or not.

"Are you…all right?" I ask as he hurries over to me.

"Yes," he says, but his face falls as he sees my condition. "Are you?"

It occurs to me that I must look awful, hunched here in pain, with my hands still bandaged and my head partly shaved, and a receiver attached to my skull. Not to mention the fact that I haven't been able to shower in days, and I must smell almost as bad as the rest of the city.

"I'm fine," I lie. There's no point being honest – we don't have time to do anything about it anyway.

He nods stiffly, clearly not believing me but choosing for whatever reasons not to question my statement. Instead, he listens as I have the soldiers fill him in on what I'm trying to do and then continue their tutorial.

We learn how to use the equipment, and we gather enough information about the military structure to enable us to give efficient orders. To my relief, Caleb asks good questions and does much of the talking, which certainly makes life easier on me at the moment. And the soldiers work patiently with us, clearly trying their best to help us accomplish what we want. More accurately, I suppose, to help _me_ , but it still works.

I lose track of time – it could be ten minutes or it could be an hour, but eventually we're able to give the right orders to enough of the right people to feel safe. The attack against Chicago has definitely been halted, and there's a massive effort underway to capture those most dangerous to us. We've also arranged for messages to be delivered to the people I selected, inviting them to come here and help build a new government. It will take a few days, or maybe longer, before I know who accepts the invitation.

It's enough for the moment, and when we're done, I sit back, allowing myself to feel satisfaction at everything we've just accomplished. A few hours ago, we could only dream of being this successful at our mission…..

But the relief doesn't last long. As soon as the sense of urgency passes, I find myself worrying about my friends again. They should be here by now. At the very least, the soldier I sent should have returned to say that she talked with them.

"Caleb," I say with a hint of desperation, "we need to…find the others."

He bites his lip thoughtfully, the same way I do. Abruptly, I wonder if he picked up the habit from Tobias' broadcast. The notion bothers me.

"I think," he says slowly, looking deeply concerned, "that it's more important to get you to the hospital. The others can join us there."

For a second, I just stare at him. It's not that what he's saying is unreasonable. It's that he's wearing the same expression as all the soldiers. The expression that says they all want nothing more than to help me and to take care of me, and they can't imagine anything worse than letting harm come to me. And suddenly I understand. Tobias didn't just use me as their role model. He didn't even just make me their president. He made them love me. _And Caleb heard the broadcast more strongly than any of them._

A shudder passes through me at the thought. How will I ever know now how much my brother genuinely cares about me – and how much came from Tobias? How will I know that about _anyone_ who heard the broadcast?

I close my eyes, not wanting to think about this anymore.

"I'm fine, Caleb," I say quietly. But I know my voice is tired, and I know I'm still gasping for each breath, and I know I'm getting worse by the hour.

"Beatrice," he says softly, "clearly you're not. Between the damage to your ribs and the trouble you're having breathing, you could easily have a punctured lung. You need help."

"I _need_ …to know about…my friends," I answer bitterly. _"Please."_

He gazes at me for a long time, obviously debating what to do. And then he sighs. "Let's compromise," he says gently. "If you let the soldiers take you to the hospital, I'll find the others and bring them there. I promise."

Automatically, I open my mouth to say no, but the word catches in my throat. I think it must be my body's way of getting my attention, because the thing is, he's right. All I would do is slow him down, and I really do need medical attention. I nod, feeling defeated.

"Okay," I wheeze.

A small Abnegation smile crosses his face, and he helps me carefully to my feet. "I'll walk you to a car," he says reassuringly, "and then I'll go look for the others."

"Okay," I say again, clutching at him to keep myself upright. I've gotten even worse. This isn't good.

"You're…in charge…if they put…me under," I tell him as we begin walking. Someone needs to take on the responsibility, and he's here while no one else I trust is. He looks surprised, but I just glance at the soldiers to make sure they heard me. He'll need witnesses if he has to exercise power without Tobias' broadcast to back him up.

The hallways seem to have gotten longer since I entered the building. Each step is excruciating at this point, and I'm glad Caleb is so tall because I'm sure I'm putting more weight on him than on my own feet.

We're still in the middle of a long hallway when a small group of people rounds the corner ahead, turning to face us. I actually sag with relief as I see Christina and Uriah and Margot being escorted by a few soldiers. _They're safe._ The thought is so amazing that it takes me a second to realize Tobias isn't with them. _Where is he?_

"Tris!" Uriah yells enthusiastically, an enormous grin on his face as he races toward me. Christina trails behind him, her expression more restrained, and suddenly I remember the look on her face when I returned from Erudite, after Jeanine broadcast my "execution" to the entire city. She looks as if part of her is frozen, as if her relief is more likely to emerge as tears than a smile.

And as he did that day, Uriah runs toward me as if he's going to embrace me, despite my exhaustion and injuries. I'm reaching a hand up to stop him when Caleb does it for me. He shifts so his body is between us, and he places his palm firmly on Uriah's chest, halting his forward momentum.

"Not now," he says. "She's been through a lot." They're almost the same words and movements Tobias used to stop him last time, and suddenly I'm thinking of him. My eyes are moist as I remember everything he did to keep me safe that day, and in the days before that, and the days since. _I want him here now. I want him holding me._

Uriah must sense my thoughts, because he says gently, "Four and Cara had to take Amar and Peter to the hospital. They're…injured." There's something strange about the way he says the word that sends dread through me, but I can't seem to find my voice at all anymore, so I just nod.

And then we're moving again, my awareness getting fuzzier as Caleb supports me on one side and Uriah on the other. It's hard to tell if the pain is actually getting worse or not because I seem to be losing my ability to stay conscious, but it feels like my insides are on fire, the burning drilling deeper into me with each ragged breath. It gets worse and worse until I finally slip into merciful darkness.

* * *

I have no idea how they get me to the hospital. I must drift in and out of consciousness, but it's hard to tell the difference right now. Even when I'm awake, I can't seem to hold a thought beyond occasional images flashing past me, breaking up waves of unendurable pain.

But somehow they must get me there, because I'm on a bed of some kind, being wheeled down a long hallway as people run on either side of me. Tobias is among them, I think, though that could just be my imagination. Given the tears on his face, it probably is. Tobias doesn't cry often, and never in front of others like this. Still, whether real or not, his eyes hold mine as the double doors close behind me. They're the last thing I remember before the world goes black.


	42. Chapter 42: Tobias – Selflessness

** Chapter 42: Tobias – Selflessness **

There's a period of close to an hour while Peter and Amar are both in surgery. My first instinct is to go looking for Tris, since I'm desperate to make sure she's safe. But Cara convinces me that that will only delay things, and I reluctantly have to admit she's right. If Christina and Uriah have found Tris, she's likely to be on her way here already, and if I leave, she won't know where I am.

Still, that doesn't make it easy to wait, particularly with the images that keep filling my mind. I don't know which ones are worse – the real memories from the last few hours or the snatches that keep appearing from my fear landscape. Between them, they seem to cover all possible variations of how Tris could be injured or dead.

But I keep functioning despite those thoughts. I've spent years ignoring my fears, after all, so I do what I've always done – I build up the walls inside myself and grit my teeth and find a way to deal.

It's somewhat of a relief when they tell us we can visit Peter. Cara declines, choosing to wait for Amar to be ready for the brain scans, but I need a distraction.

"I guess I lived," he says as I enter his room. He lies on the bed, hooked up to almost as many wires and tubes as I needed for the Control Computer. I raise an eyebrow in question. It's an odd thing to say.

"You'd look happier if I died," he explains with a straight face. The words actually cause a smile to quirk at the corner of my mouth.

"No," I answer calmly, "I'm just upset that you're awake. It's harder to steal your cake this way."

He laughs – only slightly, but it still causes him to wince in pain and clutch at his side. "I don't think they've even heard of cake in this country," he wheezes after a moment.

"That's probably true," I admit as I step closer, stopping by the side of the bed and looking at him.

_He's young,_ I realize abruptly. Through all the bizarre interactions we've had since he landed in Dauntless, that somehow never really occurred to me. He's the same age I was as I struggled to fit into my new faction, trying to figure out how to make friends and work a job and be free of my father – all things I had absolutely no idea how to do.

"Don't worry," I add in as kind a tone as I can muster. Maybe it's just a less cruel one. "You'll be able to go home soon, and even with everything my mother may have done to the city, I'm sure there's still cake around somewhere."

One side of his mouth lifts. "I think you're underestimating her," he comments dryly, and this time it's my turn to chuckle.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway," he adds. "I'm going to stick around here." That startles me, and I look at him appraisingly, trying to determine if he's serious.

"Why?" I ask warily.

For a moment, he's silent. When he does answer, his eyes move around, not really focusing. "What is there to go back for?" he asks quietly. "My mom's fine without me, and the factions are destroyed, and my friends are dead. And it's not like I have a job anywhere. I'm going to have to start from scratch, which I might as well do here." He shrugs. "And like I said, the safest place to be is where the Stiff is."

I almost laugh at the idea that we've been safe during any part of this mission, but something in his expression stops me. He looks vulnerable, like a scared kid. It's a sentiment I can certainly relate to, and given everything we've learned about him in the last few days, I find myself actually sympathizing with him – just a little.

"It still seems like you'd have more opportunities in Chicago," I comment evenly. "Or are you expecting _Tris_ to give you a job?"

He shrugs again. "She'd be foolish not to." I raise an incredulous eyebrow, but he continues like this is something he's rehearsed for a while. "Think about it. Everyone else in this country can be brainwashed, and you can bet the people you're overthrowing have some equipment stashed away to do that. They'll try to work their way back into power by 'influencing' key people, and by turning others into assassins."

My mind goes instantly to Caleb, and I feel sick as I realize that Peter's right. He smirks as he adds, "But that stuff doesn't work on me, so at least you always know who you're dealing with."

"Yeah," I say bitterly before I can stop myself. "Someone who gouges eyes out and tries to throw people into chasms."

His mouth tightens, and he glares at me for a few seconds before looking down again. A flush rises on his face, whether in anger or shame I can't tell.

"I'm not dumb, you know," he says defiantly. "If I had a good position with Tris in charge, why would I help some wanna-be overthrow her? There's no gain from that."

My mouth opens automatically to respond, but I shut it again without saying anything. He has a point – several, actually. As hard as it is to believe, Tris might be safer with Peter around than if we send him away. I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

"I never know what to make of you, Peter, so I'm just going to ask this flat-out. Can I trust you?"

He laughs. "No, I'm quite sure you're incapable of that. But I'm not going to attack her again, if that's what you want to know."

For a long moment, we assess each other. It reminds me of fighting in the ring at Dauntless, each opponent gauging the other's strengths and weaknesses before deciding how to proceed.

Finally, I nod. "All right, if you can convince Tris to hire you, I won't try to stop her. But you do understand that if you betray her, there is _nowhere_ you can go to be safe, right? Because I will hunt you to the ends of the earth to make you pay."

He rolls his eyes, covering any fear he might feel. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "Murder, mayhem, and all that. Got it." But I can tell he knows I'm serious, and it's enough to reassure me.

I nod again, slowly, before turning to go. This seems like a reasonable time to end the conversation.

Apparently, Peter doesn't agree. I'm halfway to the door when he speaks up again. " _I'm_ not the real danger, anyway." I freeze, every muscle in my body going rigid. I know what he's about to say, and I don't want to hear it. _I don't._ But I listen anyway.

"You can justify yourself to the others however you want, but you and I both know better. We both know that punch wasn't a total fluke. And we know it could happen again."

I don't answer. My breathing is too harsh to form words, even if there was something to say. Which there isn't.

My feet find their way out of the room, wandering aimlessly down hallways in an attempt to escape from the thoughts that follow me. It's not as if Peter said anything I wasn't already thinking, but somehow it's worse hearing it from a second person. From someone who _knows_. I can't ignore it from him.

* * *

On the surface, I'm calm again when I let a nurse lead me to the room where Cara and three doctors are discussing Amar's brain scans. The results are displayed on a large monitor, and I stare at them blankly as the others talk, asking questions and suggesting ideas I don't even attempt to follow. I'm angry and tired, and I frankly don't care about the technical details. I just want to know what it means for Amar.

After what feels like a long time, the group falls silent, and the doctors begin making their way from the room. Cara hangs back, watching me.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"I'd like a translation," I respond shortly.

Her mouth tightens, whether because she's tired or annoyed I can't tell, and then she sighs. "Fine. How much did you understand?"

I drag a hand down my face, making a frustrated noise. "Honestly, nothing, Cara. I missed half the conversation, and I can't think right now anyway. Just tell me what's going on in plain English."

She nods, looking almost as fatigued as I feel. But her tone is level as she begins.

"The Suggestibility Serum works through two actions. First, it stimulates the part of the brain that makes us susceptible to suggestions. It basically makes us calm and happy and willing to listen. When we hear a message while we're in that state, we _want_ to believe it, so our brains actively help the message get through, by guiding it along whichever existing pathway is most compatible with it. And the process makes that pathway stronger and more active, so we follow it more readily on our own after that. Basically, it becomes a larger part of who we are."

"As an example, if you received a message telling you to like cats, and you already liked them, it would strengthen that pathway, and you'd like them even more. But if you didn't already like them, and you instead loved dogs, it would build on that to convince you that all pets are good, including both dogs and cats. And you'd end up loving cats, but also loving dogs even more than you already did. The exact pathway depends on the person receiving the message and what the message says. But it always finds a route and makes that route stronger."

She pauses, as if debating how to word the next part, before saying slowly, "Amar is Divergent. Before today, he had equal aptitudes for both Dauntless and Amity." I look up with a start. _Before today?_ But she bites her lip and continues. "Most of your broadcast appealed to the Amity pathways in his brain, and it increased those dramatically."

She walks over to the monitor and begins pointing at sections of the images that are displayed. "These areas of the brain control emotions and social interactions and peaceful tendencies. Back in Erudite, we called these the Amity regions, because they're normally very active in people from that faction and less active in others. But I would never expect to see them _this_ active. Virtually all of Amar's current thoughts are mired in these areas, along with this one here." She points again, as if what I'm seeing should be obvious. "This is a group of memories, and he's cycling back and forth between those memories and the Amity regions. The more times he completes that cycle, the stronger the pathways become, and the more he stays in them. He's basically stuck there."

She looks at me, waiting to see if I understand. But while I'm following her words without a problem, something still doesn't make sense. "If he's stuck in the Amity part of the brain," I ask, "then why is he so upset?"

Her voice is surprisingly gentle as she responds. "Because he killed a lot of people right before getting stuck there. I think those are the memories he keeps cycling through, and they're so incompatible with the rest of the cycle that he can't deal with them."

Understanding clicks into place. I've felt enough guilt in my life, including everything coursing through me now, to have an inkling of the horror Amar is experiencing. Every single thought in his brain is telling him that what he did is _wrong_. Massively, unforgivably wrong. And he can't stop thinking about it, even for a moment.

"What do we do?" My voice sounds hoarse even to me.

"There are a few approaches we can try," Cara answers. Her expression tells me I won't like what she's about to say, but I listen anyway. "There's a form of electroshock therapy that forces the brain to jump to other neural pathways. Given the severity of Amar's current problem, I think we need to start with that."

I swallow. No part of that "therapy" sounds appealing.

"Unfortunately," she says, "that approach will still leave the expanded pathways in place. There is no known treatment to reduce those to normal, but if he stops using them so much, they'll fade on their own over time. So, our goal is to get him to use other pathways as much as possible."

She looks at me to make sure I'm following before she continues. "The best way for us to accomplish that is to expand some other pathways. That will give him more options on what to think about, and hopefully he'll be able to deal with his memories better that way. We can do that by repeating the broadcast process, though in a less extreme form and obviously with different messages. We'll need to use a medium dose of the serum and give him one-on-one transmissions, probably twice a day to start and hopefully less often over time."

She pauses, biting her lip again as she watches me. "You'll need to be the one to deliver the messages. You're inextricably linked to the pathway he's stuck in now, so I think you're by far the best person to get him out of it."

I don't even question that before I nod. I made this mess, and I know I have to be part of cleaning it up.

"When do we start?" I ask as calmly as I can.

"He needs to recover from the surgery first," Cara answers in her clinical tone, but I think I hear relief behind it. She's glad I'm cooperating. "They've placed him into a medically induced coma so he can heal physically without making his brain damage worse. And then they'll need to do the electroshock therapy. The sessions should begin right after that."

I nod again, trying to wrap my head around all of this. "We'll need equipment," I find myself saying. It's easier to think about the details than the larger picture. "Something like the setup they had in the bomb shelter."

Cara nods. "They presumably have equipment like that here. I imagine it's what they used when questioning prisoners…." But her voice falters at the same time my head jerks up.

"We can't take Amar back to where he was questioned," I say firmly. "That will make him even worse."

"Yes, obviously," Cara says tensely, her eyes unfocused as she thinks. "Besides, the equipment needs to be nearby. We'll have to see if they can move everything here."

"Yeah," I mutter, looking away again. But I know that's no solution. We can't keep that kind of equipment here, particularly after what Peter said. It would be too easy for someone to misuse it. We'll have to figure out another location – somewhere with medical resources and security. But I have no idea where.

I knead the back of my neck again, trying to think through the exhaustion and frustration, but the only answer that comes to mind is one that every emotion in me rejects. Amar's best chance of recovery lies far away from this city, back in the bomb shelter with George. Far away from where Tris needs to stay to do the job I just gave her….

I'm still trying to think of other solutions when a nurse bangs the door open, his face anxious.

"They're bringing the president in," he says urgently. "Dr. Mandel said you wanted to know." The look on his face tells me the next part before it leaves his lips. "She's hurt."

For a split second, Cara and I both stare. I don't know what's going through her mind, but to me the world is threatening to end. I push the feelings back ruthlessly. This is not the time for self-pity. Instead, I follow the nurse as he leads us through hallway after hallway at an impressively fast clip.

Uriah comes into sight first. He's running ahead of the others, clearing people out of the way of the group behind him, and I know Tris must be among them. My body tears ahead of the nurse and Cara as I race forward, needing to see. When I do, I almost stop in my tracks.

Tris lies on a wheeled stretcher, her lungs gasping for air that they clearly can't get. The side of her head has been shaved, and she has a device like Amar's attached to her skull. But what breaks me is the vacant look in her eyes. I don't know if she's been damaged by my broadcast or just by my fist, but I've never seen such emptiness in her gaze – as if she isn't really there.

Her eyes drift closed and then open again, seeing but not seeing the flurry of people around her.

"Tris," I call, reaching for her, but her hands are still bandaged, and there's nowhere for me to hold. "Tris," I say again, desperately wanting her to look at me, to register my presence, to show that spark that is uniquely her. But even when her eyes open again – even when they rest on me – I can't tell if she truly knows I'm there.

_God, what have I done to her?_

"You need to wait here," someone is telling me firmly, as hands press against my chest. My first instinct is to push past them, to fight back and stay by Tris' side, but I dimly recognize the voice. Caleb. My feet stop as the orderlies wheel Tris through a set of double doors that I know must lead to surgery. I don't know how my heart keeps beating after the doors close.

* * *

Time stops completely while we wait for the surgery to finish. The others sit in the chairs that fill the small waiting room, but I pace restlessly, trying to ignore the thoughts pounding into my mind, the ones that tell me I'll never see _Tris_ again, not the way she was.

And with the thought comes guilt, stronger than I've ever felt before. Peter's words haunt me, twining their way through the empty look in Tris' eyes, through my mother's bloody form lying on the floor as my younger self tries to rouse her, through a thousand remembered aches that I know I have the power to inflict all too easily.

"You're driving me nuts, you know," Christina says caustically as I pace by her for the hundredth time. I know she doesn't mean it that way, but given Amar's condition, it's not really the best choice of words.

"Yes," I growl. "Out of everything, clearly my biggest concern at the moment should be how not to annoy you."

Her mouth presses into a line, and her eyes narrow, but she doesn't respond at first. Instead, she just watches as I keep pacing.

"Tris will be fine," she says firmly after a moment, clearly determined to believe it herself. I don't answer. If I could accept that statement, I would have already, after any of the dozen times someone in this room has proclaimed it.

Beside her, Cara sighs, pressing her hands to her cheeks in an uncharacteristic movement. It reminds me of Tris, and I turn away, unable to handle the comparison right now.

"She wasn't particularly mad at you," Cara says softly. That catches my attention. "I told her she should be, but it was obvious she wasn't."

I have no idea how to react to that. Part of me seizes on the hope she's offering, the possibility that I haven't screwed things up as badly as I know I have. But the words are yet another reminder of my past, of how my mother kept forgiving my father over and over as each transgression got worse, until Marcus finally crossed a line and her love turned to hatred. Maybe it's better if Tris sees me that way now. _If she can see me at all._

Cara apparently misinterprets my silence, because she continues, "And given how affectionate your broadcast was towards her, and how much remorse you clearly feel, I assume she's even less angry now."

I shake my head, pacing away again. There's no point in answering, certainly no point in saying that I hope she's wrong. But I do. Because no matter how much I love Tris, no matter how much I want her and need her, the bottom line is that she deserves better. She deserves someone who's not broken, someone who would never hit her and then leave her injured and unprotected in a city full of enemies, someone she can trust – and who can trust himself.

Someone who's not selfish enough to stay with her despite what he might do.

The others watch me, obviously struggling with what else to say, but I don't want to talk anymore. I didn't want to talk in the first place. And I certainly don't want to see the pity in their eyes.

So, instead I leave, making my way down random corridors until I find an empty room in some remote part of the building. I sink to the floor, pulling my knees against my chest and holding them there, huddling like I did as a child, like I did in the image I just shared with all of NUSA. And as I did then, I try to close out the world and pretend the monster doesn't exist, that he can't hurt the woman I love ever again. Even if this time he's inside my body.

* * *

I've never seen Tris look so small. She _is_ small, of course, but somehow her presence usually fills any room she's in, as if her physical size is just a technicality that has nothing to do with how she really is.

But as she lies in the intensive care unit, barely visible through the mask that's helping her breathe and the bandages that cover her injuries, she looks tiny. Almost childlike. And it breaks whatever was still intact inside me.

I sit next to her, unable even to lace my fingers with hers, staring at the IV that is connected to the only part of either hand that isn't wrapped with fabric.

_I caused this._

"Tris," I whisper, my voice tight. "I'm so sorry. Please be okay. You need to be okay." But she lies there, unmoving, her heart monitor beeping a steady rhythm against the rasping of the ventilator.

I shift my eyes away from her hands, automatically seeking out her eyes, but they're closed, and I find myself looking instead at the bandage taped to the side of her head. It covers the surgical site, where they removed the _thing_ that was attached to her skull. I still don't know how much damage it did. Caleb kept reassuring me that she was normal after the broadcast, that it didn't affect her thinking the way it did Amar's, but I don't know how much to believe him. His track record of honesty isn't good.

My eyes move down again, wanting to at least see Tris' lips, but they're blocked by the mask that's helping her breathe. I stare at it for a few seconds before turning my attention to the bandages that wrap her ribcage tightly, attempting to hold the bones in place so they can heal from the damage my fist inflicted. I squeeze those knuckles hard with my other hand, wanting to punish them for their betrayal, wanting them to feel some measure of the pain they caused, but I know it's misdirected anger. My fingers didn't act on their own.

I think of what the doctor said, about where her ribs broke and how a sharp end punctured her lung. About how that punch hit exactly the right spot to do the maximum damage…. And I know it was too accurate to be completely accidental. There's no escaping the reality – no matter how much I want to think otherwise, some part of me _aimed_ that blow. Something deep inside me chose to hurt her.

And it's certainly not the only pain I've caused her. My eyes run over her ear, seeing the slight scar left from the knife I threw at her. And they move over her shoulder, remembering the gunshot wound she received because I failed to warn Abnegation in time. I knew for _months_ that the war was coming, but I did _nothing_ to prevent it. I was too much of a coward to face my father, and because of that, Tris was forced to shoot a friend. Because of me, her parents died.

My gaze drifts to her collarbone, looking for the ravens tattooed there, the ones that represent her family. I promised to be her family after Erudite, but I've failed her as badly as my parents failed me. I should have known better than to think I could ever be with her that way.

Every mark on her is my fault. Every scar she has, inside and out, came from me. I think of the message I sent just a few hours ago, of the lessons the factions tried to teach us. Every single one of those values is telling me what to do, and they're all saying the same thing.

I stand up, staring at Tris again as I brush my fingers very lightly over her forehead – the only part of her I can reach. Even now, I feel the electrical pull that every touch creates with her. And I know it's unique to her, something I'll never feel with anyone else. I pull away, knowing if I stay any longer I'll never have the strength to do this.

"Bye, Tris," I whisper. I don't look back as I walk out the door.


	43. Chapter 43: Tris – Separation

** Chapter 43: Tris – Separation **

The first week is the hardest. Initially, between the haze from the pain medication and how much it makes me sleep, I'm able to let the others convince me that I just missed Tobias, and that he'll be back soon. But by the time I'm allowed to sit up without a ventilator, there's no point in pretending any longer. It's clear he isn't coming to see me.

Uriah tries to insist that it's not a defection, that Tobias had to take Amar back home to be treated. Maybe it would have worked if Cara hadn't come to visit, checking on me and asking me to send some equipment and staff with them to the bomb shelter. She doesn't even try to cover for Tobias' absence – she just looks at me sadly and says to give him time.

Christina is more honest, with her Candor instincts that I doubt will ever really disappear. She tells me that Tobias is afraid of himself but that it doesn't mean he doesn't love me. Really, though, I think that just makes it all worse. It's harder to be mad at him this way, and I so want to be angry right now. It would undoubtedly hurt less.

I try to bury my sorrow in work, and fortunately there's plenty of it. Caleb and Margot spend most of each day by my hospital bed, relaying information to me, discussing ideas, and gathering my instructions. They spend the rest of their time with the staff they've put together, carrying out the decisions we made. I try to get Christina and Uriah to participate, too, but they're clearly not interested; they're just waiting until they're sure I'm okay before they head back to Chicago. I can't really blame them – they both have family to return to.

As the days slowly pass, I begin to appreciate every time I see someone who was not affected by the broadcast – or at least was less affected. It gets tiring to see Tobias' message reflected at me from face after face, as if the entire population now consists of adoring puppies. It's even harder when the face I most want to see among them, the one who inspired them, is no longer here. I try not to admit how much I miss him, but he's in every dream I have, and I feel a surge of hope every time someone tall with dark hair walks past my doorway. But it's never him, and the more time passes, the less likely it seems that I'll ever see him again.

It's more than a little strange the first time Peter visits me, walking with difficulty and making awkward small talk – some mix between his usual acerbic tone and what seems like a genuine attempt to be friendly. Well, friend _lier_ , anyway. I figure out why when he asks me for a job. For whatever reasons, I don't tell him no immediately. I let him explain his reasoning, and I tell him I'll think about it, and I actually do. A few days later, I let Caleb find him a suitable position. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe I just need someone around who will insult me occasionally to remind me that I'm not the image of perfection most of the country thinks I am.

Slowly, the people I asked to help me begin to gather in Philadelphia. Evelyn and Tori decline, as I expected, and George chooses to stay with Amar for obvious reasons. But the others trickle in, coming from various distances.

The people Anna named are the first to arrive. We're hesitant to trust them initially, since we don't know them and don't even have a way to truly verify their identities, but we let them help to some degree anyway. We just watch them closely. After all the betrayals back home, it's hard not to be at least a little paranoid.

The rebels we sent to safety come next, and I'm truly relieved to learn they all survived. Even Lauren made it, though she was in dire need of medical attention by the time they were able to come out of hiding, so she's currently hospitalized in Pittsburgh. The rebels aren't sure if she'll join us after that or return to Chicago; she was apparently not lucid enough to make a decision at the time they left to come here.

Anna, Johanna, and Jack Kang arrive last. I'm a bit surprised to see Jack, since I didn't really think he'd accept the offer, but I don't mind. At least I can count on him to be honest. And I'm genuinely pleased to see the other two.

Anna tells me quietly that Amar is responding reasonably well to being back in familiar surroundings with George, and that Tobias and Cara have started his treatments. She doesn't go into much detail, probably because of the way I go rigid when she mentions my former boyfriend, but I'm glad to hear they at least got there safely. It's likely to be the last news I get of them for a while, unless Cara thinks to keep in touch.

By the end of my second week in the hospital, I'm going stir-crazy and am beginning to threaten the nurses who attempt to help me bathe myself. As they gaze at me in confusion, their hands pausing in mid-air, I wonder how Tobias managed to find so many examples of kindness in my behavior. I certainly don't feel that inclination right now.

Fortunately, Anna takes charge at that point, insisting that it's time to move me to the President's Mansion. It's a relief to leave this place, even if I know I'll still be mostly bed-ridden for a few more weeks.

The President's Mansion is huge. It's only a few stories tall, but its footprint is probably the size of the entire Erudite compound. Thousands of people could live comfortably in a space this big, but instead I'm told it houses only the president's family and staff. After so many years in Abnegation, I find the thought abhorrent.

When I complain about it, Caleb suggests we use this as an opportunity to demonstrate how serious we are about changing things. My "advisors," as they've taken to calling themselves, have mixed responses to the idea, but I like it, and we end up opening most of the building to families with young children. They don't have much more privacy here than in the camps, with how many of them pack into the enormous rooms, but at least they're protected from the weather and have access to some of the basics they've lived without for so long. It feels good to make a direct difference, even on a relatively small scale, so we decide to extend the program to other government buildings around the country.

My body continues to heal as the work piles up even more. We firm up the structure of our transitional government, but it will be a massive effort to improve the country's infrastructure and work on its many deep problems. And we still have to develop a long-term government, preferably an elected one. It's an overwhelming process, and I'm glad to have help from all the others.

In particular, I know I couldn't do this without Anna – or Caleb for that matter. In many ways, Anna reminds me of my mother, and being with her and my brother makes me feel like I have a family again, despite how much I miss my parents and Tobias. She helps me heal, I suppose. And the Dauntless in me loves how she _talks_ with us in a way Abnegation never let us do. I find myself constantly amazed by how bluntly she states her thoughts and opinions, and how she encourages us to do the same.

The two of them hold me together through everything else, particularly as the day draws near for Christina and Uriah to leave.

"Are you sure I can't talk you out of it?" I ask Christina hopefully on her last night here.

She shakes her head with a sad little smile. "I'm sorry, Tris. I hate to leave you, but this just isn't home for me." I sigh, because it's not really my home, either, even though it's where my only remaining family is. But Tobias didn't give me much of a choice.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Christina says with an attempt at cheerfulness. "They're letting me take one of those portable communication things with me, so we'll have a way to talk." She pauses, looking at me with that direct gaze she always pulls off so well. "I have no idea how to use it, but I'll make them teach me, and I expect you to call me at least once a week."

I nod, trying to smile, and for a moment we just look at each other. Then, she pulls me carefully into her arms, hugging me for so long I begin to have trouble breathing through the pressure on my ribcage. She finally pulls back, and I'm vaguely surprised to see tears on her face. It makes moisture prick behind my eyes too.

"You take good care of yourself, you hear me?" she murmurs, and I nod again.

"You too, Christina."

* * *

Uriah stops by my room an hour later to say his own goodbye. By now, I know my eyes are red. It's too much to lose my friends on top of Tobias, and it's been impossible to fight the tears back completely.

But I feel better as I look at Uriah, his kind expression telling me it doesn't matter if I've been crying. He probably has been too.

"I'm going to miss you, Tris," he says softly, looking at the floor. He looks so lost all of a sudden, and it occurs to me how few friends he has left. How few either of us has.

Impulsively, I step forward and wrap my arms around him, hugging him the way Christina and I held each other earlier.

"I'll miss you, too," I murmur against his chest. Uriah has always – _always_ – been such a good friend to me.

As I step back, I make an effort to smile. I shouldn't let my own sadness make him feel guilty for leaving.

"Give Zeke a kiss for me, huh?" I say with the best grin I can muster.

He laughs, his usual flamboyance reappearing. "No, that would just be weird…. I should definitely kiss _Shauna_ for you instead."

My grin widens. "It's your funeral, Uriah." But the words don't have the desired effect. They remind me too much of the conversation we had while rescuing Caleb a thousand years ago. They remind me of Tobias.

They must remind Uriah, too, because his face grows serious again.

"Tris," he says after a moment, "I really like Four. I do. He's always been a good friend – almost a second brother. And I _really_ hope he gets his shit together and comes back to you, because you two are good for each other."

He pauses, kicking at the floor, his eyes downcast. "But if he doesn't," he adds slowly, "you should know you have options."

His eyes move up to mine, and for a second, we just look at each other. I'm still trying to figure out what he means when he steps forward and kisses me, very gently, on the lips. I'm too surprised to react at first, so I'm not entirely sure how long the kiss lasts before I collect myself and step back. I have no idea how to respond.

There's an awkward silence before Uriah smiles a bit sadly. "I'll see you, Tris," he says softly.

"Yeah," I manage to answer. "Have a good trip back." The words sound lame even to my own ears, and he doesn't try to answer them. Instead, he just nods a little before slipping from the room.

As the door shuts behind him, I walk the few feet to my bed and sink slowly onto it. _What in the world just happened?_ Since when does _Uriah_ like me? I think back through our interactions since the first time we met. He's always been friendly, and he's always flirted to some degree, but he does that with everyone. Even when he was dating Marlene, he still reacted to every girl he saw that way. It's just who he is.

I shake my head, unable to figure it out. Maybe he was affected by Tobias' broadcast, like everyone else, or maybe my loneliness combined with his own grief over Marlene made him do something strange. I don't know. It's not like it matters, anyway. As sweet as Uriah is, he's not what I want. He's not Tobias. And no amount of time will ever change that.

* * *

That night, I dream that I was the one who reached the Control Computer first, and that I gave the broadcast instead of Tobias.

As he did, I start with the message from Anna, trying to ensure that Chicago is safe and that my remaining friends stay alive. When I reach the part about who to put in charge, I'm overwhelmed by the same doubts I felt in Tobias' broadcast, and I latch onto thoughts of him.

"Be brave," I transmit, filling my mind with images. I see Tobias following me up the Ferris wheel despite his fear of heights, his large hand steadying me as I almost fall. And then he is fighting my three attackers by the dark chasm, saving me from certain death. I follow him into his fear landscape, watching as he exposes his greatest fears so I will know him better.

He refuses to run as soldiers approach us in Abnegation, choosing instead to stay with me as I lie there bleeding from a gunshot wound. Jeanine is choking and gasping as Tobias' fingers tighten around her throat after she tells us her plans. Tobias is shielding me from bullets by an elevator in Candor. His eyes meet mine in a hallway in Erudite, and the courage I see in them almost drowns out the guards holding onto both of us. Then, he is fighting every obstacle to help us escape – and fighting his way back in days later to end the war.

As with his broadcast, there are so many moments to choose from that I can't even count them all. Tobias may be right that he is Abnegation at his core, but he is certainly Dauntless too. He is the bravest person I know.

"Be selfless," I continue, letting my mind turn to the aptitude we both grew up with.

He is throwing knives at me, knowing that it could make me hate him but knowing also that it is the only way to keep me safe from Eric. We're standing in a hallway as he tells me he'll delete my simulation to hide my Divergence, without even letting me know how dangerous it is for him to do that. His arm thrusts me backward away from Marcus in his fear landscape as he faces his greatest fear to protect me. I feel relief as he marches into a room where Eric is threatening me and my friends, saving me from the consequences of running off to see Caleb.

Tobias is climbing onto a train full of sleep-walking Dauntless in order to do what he can to help Abnegation. He is trying to get Jeanine to kill him instead of me as she describes her new Divergent-proof simulation. The Dauntless are electing him to leadership, a position he has never wanted but accepts for the sake of the city. He's trying to convince me not to surrender myself to Jeanine, when I know he plans to go instead. We're crammed into a small closet in Erudite as he ignores his claustrophobia to tell me to hang on – that he's arranged my rescue. His gentle hands wash my feet in the house he grew up in, trying to comfort me in the place that formed his worst fears.

There are so many more examples I could show, but apparently some part of my mind knows that is enough, because my dream moves on.

"Be smart."

Tobias is teaching us strategy, slipping in bits of philosophy without Eric noticing. He is giving me advice that allows me to beat Molly – and avoid being kicked out of Dauntless. His eyes watch me, encouraging me to come up with an idea in Capture the Flag instead of presenting one himself, knowing it will change the way the others view me. He is standing in his room, telling me I need to show some vulnerability to my friends in order to ward off another attack. Eric laughs cruelly at a story Tobias invents, his amusement and scorn at the tale causing him to let me go without punishment.

Tobias is describing how he discovered the plot against Abnegation, brushing over his ability with computers as if hacking through security is the easiest thing in the world. His fingers fly over a keyboard, disabling a simulation that Jeanine – the smartest person in Erudite – personally developed. He is coming to the same conclusion I did in an enormous empty space in Candor, as he looks at a needle with blue dye. A crowd of displaced Dauntless listens uncertainly as he suggests we return to our compound, to the home we badly need to restore our sense of self.

"Be kind." Tobias is sitting by me, telling me to put ketchup on my hamburger right after I arrive in Dauntless. His blue eyes rest on me as he selects me first for Capture the Flag when I expect to be picked last. He is sleeping on the floor in his own room as I lie on his bed, bruised from what Peter and the others did to me. Tobias is quoting my father's words to me, risking having me figure out who he is in order to comfort me after Al's death. And then he is telling me I'm worth liking when I'm sure I'm not, just before his lips find mine, showing me how much he means what he's saying.

He's reassuring me after my fear landscape, easing my panic at the thought of what a boy his age might want from me. He kisses me again and again with nothing but love, never pressuring me into anything I'm not ready to do. His arms wrap around me, holding me tightly as I cry for my parents in his bed in Amity. He presses his forehead to mine in Candor as he tries to get me to stop being so reckless, to stop trying to throw my life away.

His hands wrap around mine to hold a gun in place as he teaches me to shoot again. And finally, he broadcasts an image of himself as a boy to an entire country, to ensure that no child ever again has to go through what he did.

"Be honest." Tobias' voice carries to me from below, telling me that teamwork is _supposed_ to be a Dauntless priority as we climb the Ferris wheel. We're standing in a hallway as he explains that our faction's ideals have become corrupted by a change in leadership. He's revealing the truth about his past by letting me see his fear landscape. We're on a train as he tells me about Erudite's plans. We're on another train, a smile curving his lips, as he says he loves me.

Amanda Ritter's video is playing because of his decision to show it, to give the entire population the truth about why the city was formed. We're in Candor again as he tells me that he traded Dauntless for me. His eyes are intense on mine as he says we need to rescue Caleb. In a different room, he's admitting how afraid he is that he'll turn into his father. He's questioning Amar and Anna about the rebels and the mission we're undertaking. Finally, he is broadcasting the truth to all of NUSA.

I wake up slowly, the images lingering in my mind. I know I won't be able to fall asleep again after that, but I don't get up. Instead, I lie there for a long time, just thinking about the man I was lucky enough to call my boyfriend for three months. I don't know if he'll ever return to me or not, but I know that I'll do what Cara suggested. I'll give him the time he needs. Because no matter how much his absence hurts, I know that I want him back. And I know that he's worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid confusion, I am definitely NOT introducing any love triangles. I've always felt that Uriah kind of liked Tris, and I wanted to give him that one moment, but that's it. She loves Tobias and no one else.
> 
> Anyway, please take a moment to review. Your reviews mean so much to me, so thank you very, very much for all of them! Thank you also to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie!


	44. Chapter 44: Tobias – Understanding

** Chapter 44: Tobias – Understanding **

It was a mistake to come to this service. I thought I owed it to those who died protecting the city, but everyone assumes I'm here for Marcus. And I swear I'm going to lose it if one more person tells me they're sorry for my loss and goes on and on about what a great man my father was.

But I can't leave yet, not until Cara and the others from the bomb shelter are ready, since we're all driving back in the same vehicle. So, instead I wander around trying to avoid people, and trying to keep my thoughts focused on anything except _him._

I pass the gravestones, ignoring the first one and reading the names of the others being honored – those who died on our mission. Robert. Lisa. Pari. Paul. Mona. We lost a third of the group that left the bomb shelter that night. But as I look around at the hundreds of people attending the memorial service, I know that those people are alive because of our mission. We stopped the NUSA army as it gathered outside the gates, preparing to attack. We saved every life in this city.

Unfortunately, I have no desire to be treated as a hero.

My eyes make another circuit of the area, looking for a quiet place to hide out while I wait, and I settle on an abandoned building that overlooks the park. I should be able to watch from there to figure out when the others are ready to leave.

I make it out of the crowd and am halfway to the building when I hear a familiar voice.

"Tobias!" my mother calls. I stop, debating how to respond, but I know she at least won't offer sympathies for Marcus' death. And she's certainly not likely to smother me with thanks. So I let her approach, though I cross my arms over my chest to ensure she doesn't try to embrace me.

She stops a few feet away, watching me with an unreadable expression as I glower at her. Our last conversation wasn't exactly friendly, and I'm not in the mood to rehash it right now.

After a long moment, she slips her hand into her coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to me.

"I did as you asked," she says tightly. At first, I'm not sure what she means. It's not until I take the paper and see my own handwriting that I understand. I had forgotten about the note I gave Zeke as we left Erudite. It feels like that was years ago – so long that I have to read it to remember what I wrote.

_Evelyn,_

_I decide who's permanent in my life, and right now, you're not on that list. If you ever want to change that, you need to start by respecting the people I care about – Tris and Zeke and Tori and their friends. If you harm them, you and I are  done. But if you can get over your personal vendetta enough to work with them, then maybe there's a chance for us. It's your choice._

_– Tobias_

"I cooperated with Tori and Anna," my mother says, her tone an odd mixture of hesitation and insistence. "We worked together to prepare the city for attack."

I just stare at her, unsure how to respond. She listened to other people? She actually worked with them? _Because I asked her to?_ It's more than a little hard to believe.

She clears her throat before adding somewhat bitterly, "It was difficult for me to accept what you wrote at first…. I have to admit that your note made me angry, and I'm sorry to say I put Zeke in jail for a day. But I did release him. He was not harmed in any way."

I nod very slightly, still watching her. I have only spoken with Zeke once since returning, just long enough to let him know that Uriah was safe, and to make sure he and Shauna were okay. He didn't mention anything about this, but he was free and seemed fine. It's somewhat surreal to think that's because my mother was trying to repair our relationship – I had all but given up on that ever happening.

But as we continue to stare at each other, I realize I have no idea what to do next. My mother hasn't been a real part of my life for so long I don't have the faintest idea how to begin to mend that.

Maybe we should start with the truth.

"What happened to my little brother?" I ask. I know the question must seem like it's coming out of nowhere, since Evelyn has no idea what Marcus shared with me. But I need to hear her side of the story. I need to know exactly why she left me with a monster, and I need to know what happened to the child she chose over me.

Evelyn looks startled and sad and guilty all at once – it's a look of pain I remember from when I was young, and it brings out the same feelings in me. But I ignore them, waiting to see what she says.

Her eyes shift to the ground, moving around as if searching for answers.

"Tobias…" she says quietly. Her voice is filled with an aching – a longing – and I'm sure she's going to tell me the baby died. But instead she whispers, "There was no way to be fair to both of you. Marcus didn't give me that option…."

I interrupt her, my voice stiff even in my own ears. "You had a choice. You could have given the baby to its real father. Did you ever consider that, before you decided to abandon me?" I know my voice sounds bitter, petulant even, but I can't help it.

She's silent for so long I'm sure she isn't going to reply, and I begin to debate leaving. This conversation is pointless. There's clearly no future for us.

"I never had an affair," she says finally, her voice breaking partway through the last word.

A surge of anger goes through me. _She's lying_. Again. This time, I do start to leave, but her voice stops me.

"It was a girl, Tobias." I turn back to her, trying to make sense of her words, and I freeze at the terror in her gaze. She's trembling as she adds, "As bad as Marcus was to you, you can't even imagine how much worse he would have been to her. I couldn't let that happen. She was so small and fragile…. I couldn't let her face sixteen years of what he would do. I just couldn't…."

Her eyes are locked on mine now, pleading with me to understand as she continues. "There was no way to give her up for adoption without his permission, and he would never have given it. And I couldn't take you both away, or he would have chased us down. And I thought…. You were nine – over halfway to freedom. And you were getting so big. I thought within a few years you'd be big enough to stand up to him, and he wouldn't dare hurt you anymore."

She swallows hard, looking down as she continues. "So, I convinced the nurse to help me. She was sympathetic, and she showed Marcus the other baby that was born that day. He had much darker skin, and it was enough to make Marcus believe the child wasn't his." Evelyn makes a small movement against her face, and I realize she's wiping tears away. I can't remember the last time I saw her cry – not since I was very little.

"The nurse helped us escape, and I began raising Margaret among the factionless. I planned to keep her until she reached school age, but…." She shakes her head. "Let's just say I wasn't any better a mother to her than I was to you." Evelyn's mouth twists bitterly. "So, when she was three, I gave her up for adoption in Candor. I'd been factionless long enough at that point to be able to do it without listing her father's name or getting his signature."

Evelyn looks away again, falling silent. But my mind is racing with everything she's said. For the first time since I found out my mother was alive, I understand why she left. And I can't really blame her. I can't even be angry that she kept the truth hidden all this time, because if Marcus had found out, he would have searched out his daughter and reclaimed her. Keeping Margaret secret was the only way to protect her.

"Is she still alive?" I ask, my voice subdued. We killed so many Candor as we fought our way into Erudite….

My stomach sinks at the guilt that flashes across my mother's face. It seems to confirm my fear. But instead she answers, "Yes" in a tight voice. She pauses before adding, somewhat reluctantly, "She's Divergent, like you are. That kept her safe from the simulation."

Safe from that, maybe, but I know what other dangers the Divergents in Candor faced. My mind goes back to the day the Dauntless traitors attacked while we were there. Eric almost killed Tris then, and he shot a boy next to her. But before that, she saved a girl….

I didn't see the girl that day, but as I think about her, another memory surfaces – of Jack Kang asking the Divergents to come forward. My father and Tris and I made our way to the front of the crowd, along with a few other people, and Tris exchanged nods with a girl. A girl who looked to be around nine, with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. I see her in my mind, walking up to join us, and I see my father's eyes turn toward her. And I understand.

"Marcus saw her, didn't he?" I ask, my own voice as tight as my mother's. "When we were all in Candor after the attack? He suspected who she was."

Evelyn's lips press together into a line, and she looks away before nodding.

"That's why you were so determined to erase all the Erudite data." I state it as a fact, not a question. "The adoption records were stored there, and you were listed as her mother."

Evelyn doesn't answer, but I know I'm right. And that thought leads to another…. It never made sense that my father broke into Erudite to retrieve Amanda Ritter's video. Yes, he wanted to use their equipment to play it to everyone, but he must have had a copy of the file itself. As good as he was with computers, he undoubtedly would have made at least one backup. If nothing else, the rebels would have had their own copies. And if he had the file, he could have played it from a variety of computers – ones that were much easier to access than Jeanine's.

No, he needed a computer with access to everything in the database, and he needed it before that data was erased. So he could see if he had a daughter.

For a moment, I just think about how close Margaret came to living a life like mine. But then my mind shifts to the person who's never far from my thoughts, and I realize just how badly we all punished Tris for saving my sister's life.

I yelled at her, and threatened to break up with her for senselessly risking her life. My mother was willing to let her die in Erudite, only agreeing to help after I traded Dauntless for her. And then my father used her to get him into Jeanine's lab. A shudder passes through me as I think about how I responded when I saw her there. I can't stand to think about it for long.

I turn away, feeling my hands form tight fists at my sides as anger fills me.

"Tris saved her life, you know," I say harshly. "She saved _both_ of your children. And just _look_ at how we all repaid her." I shake my head, too disgusted to continue. And suddenly I'm done with this conversation.

I've taken two steps away when my mother's voice sounds again, strained this time. "I thought Tris would come today, with you. I wanted to apologize to her."

The words freeze me in place, sending ice through every vein in my body. This is _not_ a subject I want to discuss. But maybe I should. Maybe I should let Evelyn see the results of her decisions, of all our decisions.

"Well," I say harshly, "you're out of luck." I don't turn to face her. "We're not together anymore. And given whose funeral we're at, I bet you can guess why."

My mother's breath catches, and her voice is almost a moan as she says, "Oh, Tobias, you didn't…."

I whirl towards her again, more furious than ever at the disappointment in her voice. "What, you're going to act surprised now?" I shout, not caring if anyone else can hear us. "You're the one who told me I was just like him. You should be happy. You were _right_ , after all."

She stares, shaking her head. "No, Tobias. I never wanted this. _Never._ "

"Yeah," I snarl, "well, it's not like either of us has gotten anything we wanted in life, is it?"

I turn away again, breathing hard, feeling something well up in me that I've controlled carefully since I was very young – the desire to sob at the hopelessness of my life.

I don't know how long we stand there silently, but I'm surprised when my mother steps closer to me and takes hold of my arm. It's a gentle grip, but I don't expect it – not when I'm sure she must be afraid of me right now. It makes me look at her again.

"Tobias," she says softly, like she's approaching a dangerous animal. "There's something you should know about." I glare at her, not answering, and she sighs before continuing.

"The Erudite had support programs to help with different problems. I saw them when I was growing up there – one for alcoholism, and one for cigarette addiction, and several for domestic violence. There was one for abuse victims, and one for abusers…and one for those who, despite the best intentions…have become both."

She looks away for a moment, letting me digest that, before she adds, "Those programs are open to everyone now. I made sure that all of the factions have to share their strengths." Her eyes meet mine again, and for several seconds, we watch each other warily. Then, her voice quivering, she says, "I'll go if you will."

The full impact of what she's offering hits me, hard. She's admitting to the harm she's done, and she's trying to reconnect with me. And she's suggesting something that might actually help. Something that could let me be with Tris again someday, if she still wants….

I shake my head, not daring to let myself believe in any of this, not daring to hope. But a little creeps in anyway.

"Does it work?" I ask, very quietly.

Evelyn shrugs, some of the familiar bitterness returning to her face. "How would I know? It wasn't open to me when I needed it most." She looks away, her mouth flattening into a line before she adds, "But I imagine it does. The Erudite are all about efficiency. They wouldn't continue a program that doesn't work."

I nod slowly. The truth is I have nothing to lose by trying this – and everything to gain.

"Okay," I say softly, staring at the ground. My mother touches my arm again, and I look up reflexively. For the first time in my memory, I see hope in her eyes. And maybe, just maybe, there's an answering reflection in my own.


	45. Chapter 45: Tris – Returning

** Chapter 45: Tris – Returning **

It's strange to see Chicago again. Anna warned me it would seem different – partly because my perspective has changed over the last year and partly because the city itself is no longer the same. Particularly with the restructuring of the factions. It took a long time to iron out the details around that, but doing so allowed the city to join our fledgling country. Chicago now has elected representatives and the same form of government as the rest of the United Citizens of America.

But the factions survived, in a form. They were too popular to eliminate completely, and eventually even Evelyn had to accept that. So, we worked out a compromise, one that removed the legal power but kept the social aspects. Basically, people are free to live together in communities, and they're free to explore a common interest or value however they want within those communities. But they can't make their own laws, and if they're above a certain size, they have to allow people to visit and to use their facilities and services.

The concept has worked well – so well that it's spread to the rest of the UCA. I suppose this is yet another impact of Tobias' broadcast. The people have thoroughly embraced the ideals of bravery, selflessness, intelligence, honesty, and kindness, so it's natural that they'd want to incorporate those values into every aspect of their lives. They added their own twist, though, by creating new factions that explore multiple virtues at once. Each one has its own name, but I tend to refer to them collectively as "Divergent factions." They've become popular in Chicago, too, particularly among the former factionless.

I see signs of this new way of life as we drive through Chicago, moving slowly down street after street. There are still clusters of matching colors in places, but they're interspersed with different shades, and I see many people adorned with mixes of various colors.

The Hub comes into view, and I can't help but remember the last time I was there, when I let my blood drop onto the sizzling coals. I was so frightened that day, so torn by what to do. I'm glad that sixteen-year-olds no longer have to make that type of choice.

We pass by the Erudite compound, which looks clean and alive again as crowds of people mill around it. Blue is still the dominant color here, but not in the forced way it used to be. It's good to see other colors mixed in – if nothing else, it eases the tension that still knots my stomach at the sight of this particular location. This will never be an easy place for me to see.

We continue north toward the Hancock building before turning west. I remember walking this route with Tobias those last two dangerous nights in the city before we left on our mission. It looks very different from in the car.

Adam makes a sharp turn, as if he almost missed a road, and I resist the urge to ask if he's sure he knows the way. It's still a struggle to trust people, but he's driven me enough times to deserve some respect, and Christina undoubtedly gave him good directions. So, I keep my silence.

We end up on Oak Street, driving past an eclectic mix of older and newer buildings made from a variety of different materials. This isn't a route I took regularly at any point in my life, but it still looks familiar. It's not until I see the building that I realize why. I only ever saw it at night, but I have no trouble recognizing the location of Tobias' factionless apartment. I'm not surprised when we pull up to the curb in front of it. Christina must not have realized I was ever here, or she would have mentioned that _this_ is where they all live now.

I don't know if I like the thought of living here or not.

"This is it, Madam President," Adam says, stating the obvious.

"Thank you," I tell him quietly, my thoughts on a very different moment with a very different man. "But I'm not the president anymore. Remember?"

He shrugs. "You'll always be the president to me," he says with an almost shy smile. I try not to sigh. Personally, I'm delighted to finally be rid of that title. It was a happy day for me when our new government was solid enough for elected officials to assume all the power – and an even happier one when they stopped constantly seeking my help, and I could think about returning home.

"Well, thank you for the ride," I begin, but Adam just rolls his eyes. He knows by now that I'm far from weak, despite my small stature, but there's no way he's going to let me carry my bags by myself. No matter how much I've tried to push the idea that all people are equal, he'll never quite accept the idea of a driver letting a president carry luggage.

So, I let him lug the two larger bags while I take the two smaller ones. Even after a year in office, my possessions fit into four bags.

I lead Adam through the lobby, noticing that all the broken windows have been replaced and that everything is now clean. I start for the stairs automatically, remembering the way from when Tobias led me in the dark a thousand years ago. But as we pass the elevator, I see that its panel is lit, and it occurs to me that I don't want Adam having to carry the bags up multiple flights of stairs. He's never told me how old he is, but given the gray in his hair, he must be at least fifty.

So, we clamber into the elevator, and I press the button for the third floor. My palms are already starting to sweat in anticipation. I can't help but wonder if Tobias is here right now. I haven't entirely decided how I feel about the prospect of seeing him again, let alone living in the same "mini-faction" as him. I doubt it's something I _can_ figure out in advance. But I know I'm looking forward to seeing Christina and Cara and Uriah and the others.

The elevator opens onto a clean, pleasant hallway with large windows at either end. It looks so different than the last time I was here that I pause for a moment to take in the sight. There are multiple open doors along the hallway, but I can't tell off-hand which ones are for the community rooms and which are apartments.

I find myself turning left, walking in the direction of Tobias' apartment before I fully realize what I'm doing. As with the other doors, it's open, and I pause to look inside, though I keep my feet in the hallway. It would be rude to intrude on his space.

I catch only a glimpse inside it before I hear a squeal of joy from the other end of the hallway.

"Tris! You're here!" Christina races toward me, her face lit with delight, and I feel an answering grin split my face. It's been far too long since I've seen her.

She pulls me into a hug, ignoring the bags in my hands, but since there's nothing breakable in them, I let them drop and wrap my arms around her in response. For a very long time, we embrace each other while Christina peppers me with rapid-fire questions, and I try to slip answers in between them.

Finally, she pulls back, holding me by the shoulders and looking at me. "You've grown," she says, sounding surprised. But I just laugh.

"Yeah, that extra inch changes my entire look, doesn't it?" She laughs too. If anything, she's grown more than that, so there's even more of a height difference between us than there used to be.

But it doesn't bother me. I suppose that's another impact of Tobias' broadcast – I've spent the last year surrounded by people who saw me as the model of perfect beauty. So, while I'll never be tall or curvy, I no longer see myself as childlike or as being less than everyone else. I'm comfortable in my own skin.

"Christina, this is Adam," I say to introduce them. "He's Anna's driver, but he was kind enough to bring me all the way here from Philadelphia."

"It's nice to meet you," Christina says, reaching to shake his hand but stopping as she realizes he's still holding my larger bags.

"Um, let's start with your apartment," she adds, grabbing one of the bags I dropped as I retrieve the other. She leads us back the way we came, continuing past the elevator and down a few doors. She describes them as we pass.

"All of the apartments are on this side of the hallway, except for Four's, which is back there in the corner." She waves casually back to the doorway I was standing in. "The community spaces take up the rest of that side. We have a gathering room, a game room, an exercise room, a dining hall, and a group kitchen. It's a nice setup – you'll see. Anyway, this door here is Uriah's apartment, and the next one up is Cara's."

As we walk past that door, she points to the end of the hallway. "Zeke and Shauna have the corner unit, and there's an empty apartment next to them." She grins, adding, "It's a good thing, given how…loud they can be."

A slight flush of embarrassment rises on my face at her implication, but I don't say anything in response. She continues cheerily, "I'm next to the empty apartment, and on my other side…." She stops by that door. "Is your place. We're next to each other!"

She grins, eliciting an answering smile from me. "See what you think!" she says eagerly as she gestures for me to go in first.

I can't say I had any idea what to expect when I agreed to live here. I just knew that I wanted to try being near my friends again, rather than living with Caleb and his friends I've never met, or with Anna, who's only here part of the time, in between her trips to Philadelphia to serve as Chicago's representative. But whatever I might have expected, it wasn't this.

The apartment is perfect. It's small, in a way that appeals to the Abnegation in me – cozy, most people would say. There's a narrow front room with an efficiency kitchen, a sitting area with two comfortable-looking chairs, and a small desk with an office chair. I know instinctively that if I need more seats than that, or a bigger kitchen, I should be using the community spaces. That's what they're for, after all.

Behind the front room, there's a bedroom with a beautiful bay window. As I remember from Tobias' apartment, the ceiling is high, creating a sense of space even though the room itself is not large. The furnishings are simple: a wooden bureau and a double bed with a nightstand on one side. For a moment, I just stare at the comforter. It's the same color scheme as the one on Tobias' bed back in Dauntless. I smile, wondering how much of a role he played in setting up this apartment.

"Four picked that out," Christina says, as if reading my mind. She scrunches her nose slightly at his taste, but to me it's just right. I felt safe for the first time in Dauntless the night I slept on his bed, and this reminds me of that feeling.

"He also made you this," she adds, picking up a book from the top of the bureau. I reach for it before realizing that we're all still holding my bags.

"Adam, you can just leave those here," I tell him with a smile as I set my own bag down, and Christina follows suit. "I'll unpack them later."

He nods, placing the bags carefully onto the floor as if they contain precious cargo. "Did you need anything else, ma'am?" he asks solicitously.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you again for the ride."

"You're very welcome," he says, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. "If you need anything else, please let Anna know. We won't be returning to Philadelphia for another two weeks, and I'm sure she'd be happy to spare my services if you need them during that time." I nod, knowing he's right about that. Adam is my grandmother's full-time employee, driving her on all the trips she takes between here and Philadelphia, but he's given me plenty of rides when I needed them.

As he departs, I take the book that's still in Christina's hand. The cover displays three birds – the same ones tattooed onto my skin – but there's no text to indicate what's in it, so I tentatively open it.

"Oh, my god," I whisper as I stare at the first page. It's a photograph of me standing with my mother. The Abnegation don't take photographs, so the only pictures I have ever seen of her are childhood images that Anna had from Dauntless. But in this picture, she's an adult – she looks just the way I remember her.

It takes me a moment to place the scene, but then I realize it's from visiting day during initiation. Tobias must have found it in old security footage. I think of the screens in the Control Room, remembering the grainy black-and-white images, and I can't imagine how he turned that into this sharp, full-color picture. It must have taken a lot of work.

My breath catches even more when I turn the page. My father and Caleb stand together, and I know this must be from Dauntless as well. It's one of the last moments my father was alive, but he's looking forward with an expression of pride, and I realize the image must have been captured as we were talking. _As he was looking at me._

I feel tears pricking behind my eyes, and I quickly turn the page before they have a chance to spill over. My father's face greets me again, this time captured from a meeting where he was serving as one of the city's leaders. And on the next page, my mother is volunteering in Amity. In total, the book contains five photographs of each of them, all clear and in full color. I can't fathom how much time Tobias must have spent scouring old footage to find these, and how much more time he spent making them look this way.

Ten minutes ago, I wasn't sure how I felt about the prospect of seeing him again, but in this moment I can't imagine anything I want more. I can't believe he did this for me.

"Are you okay?" Christina asks me quietly, touching my arm. I nod, blinking back the remaining moisture from my eyes. Old habits die hard, and it's still difficult for me to show weakness, so I turn away as I set the book down, somewhat reverently, on my nightstand. I know I'll want to look at the pictures again before I go to sleep tonight.

"So, I take it there's more to see," I prompt as I turn back to Christina.

She grins. "Absolutely!" She grabs my arm, pulling me with her enthusiastically back into the hallway and towards the end where Tobias' apartment is. She stops at the door opposite his, which is closed.

"This is George and Amar's apartment. They love visitors when their door is open, but when it's shut like this, don't intrude unless it's an emergency. Amar still tends to need a lot of quiet time."

I nod. "How _is_ he, Christina?"

Her shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. "No different than the last time you asked." I suppose that makes sense – we talked about him a week ago, after all – but I can't help hoping that he'll magically be back to normal if I ask yet one more time.

Christina must see that hope on my face, because she smiles a little. "It's slow progress, but he really is much better than he was a year ago. He's down to two therapy sessions a week – one with Four and one with George – and he hasn't needed electroshock in the last three months. He still can't handle crowds or any kind of violence, but he's doing better with noise. He joins us most evenings now, despite Zeke and Uriah's…energy level. So, overall, he's good."

She rests a hand on my shoulder and adds, "You'll feel better after you get a chance to talk to him. A lot of the time, he seems pretty normal now."

I nod, looking away, and Christina clearly takes that as a cue to continue with the tour.

"So, um, that's the therapy room," she says, pointing to the next door over. "Four moved all the equipment here from the bomb shelter when George and Amar moved in." She gives me a quick grin and adds, "He also installed some crazy security system, so don't try to open the door, okay? It's really loud."

"Good to know," I say, making a mental note to avoid that room. Not that I have any desire to mess with serums and mental control over others – I've seen far too much of that for a lifetime.

"The next door over is the stairway," Christina adds, "and that's it for this side of the hallway." She turns back to the other side.

"So, as I said, Four's apartment is the only one on this side. We tried to kick him out once to expand the community rooms, but you know how stubborn he is. He insisted he needed to be able to watch the therapy room." She rolls her eyes, but I just smile a little as memories of a particular night so long ago come to mind. Of conquering my seventh fear. I can understand why Tobias is attached to that room.

Fortunately, for a change, Christina doesn't seem to notice my expression before I turn away, and she leads me toward the community rooms without suspicion.

We enter the kitchen first and see Cara up to her elbows in preparing a huge meal.

"Tris," she says with the tight smile that's characteristically hers. "I'm glad you made it here safely. I know it's a long ride."

I think about giving her a hug, the way I did with Christina, but her hands are full, and she's clearly busy, so I just answer. "It wasn't a bad trip at all. I came here with Anna, and her driver did all the work. I slept most of the way, to be honest."

She nods, clearly distracted by the vegetables she's chopping.

"Would you like some help?" I ask despite myself. I still have a number of habits left from Abnegation, and this is one of them.

"Tris! Don't go signing up for extra work!" Christina says, slapping my arm in exasperation. "You'll get your turn soon enough." And she leads me over to a chore list on the wall. The cooking and cleaning tasks for the next month are all listed, with names next to each. It's clear that the work is divided among everyone who lives here.

"We'll add you to the schedule in a week or two," she says. "But first, I should ask…do you know how to cook? Because if you're as bad as Zeke, we'll find something else for you to do."

I laugh. "Yes, I know how to cook, and clean for that matter. I grew up in Abnegation, remember?"

"And moved to Dauntless for the food, as I recall," she says, nudging me with her elbow.

I laugh again. "Okay, I admittedly only know how to make plain foods, but I can follow a recipe. If you haven't had problems with Tobias' cooking, you won't have trouble with mine either."

"Actually, we had to take Four out of the cooking rotation," Cara says briskly as she dumps her now-chopped vegetables into a large casserole dish. "Between Amar's therapy sessions, and Four's weekly dinner with his mother and sister, and his support meetings, it was too hard to work around his schedule. We got tired of eating at ten o'clock at night. So, he does building maintenance and cleaning now – things that are more flexible in timing."

"Oh," I say a bit blankly. For some reason, it bothers me a little that Cara knows Tobias' schedule so well. But I suppose she would have to, since she's been part of Amar's therapy from the beginning.

"So, he's still in the support program, then?" I ask a bit awkwardly. Christina has occasionally filled me in on what's happening with Tobias, but we steer clear of the subject more often than not. "Has it been…helpful for him?"

"I think so," Christina says seriously. "He seems to be more at ease with himself now. He doesn't always act like he has a stick up his…."

"Christina!" I interrupt, trying not to laugh.

"Well, it's true," she says with a snicker. "He's more relaxed nowadays."

I nod, trying to think of a good way to phrase what I want to say next. But it finally just slips out.

"Has he…been seeing anyone?"

Christina snorts loudly. "Oh, you did not seriously just ask me that, did you?" she exclaims.

"What?" I say defensively. I can feel my cheeks flaming. "It's not an unreasonable question. I haven't seen him in a year, and you've barely talked about him. How am I supposed to know?"

Christina rolls her eyes, but Cara is the first to respond. "No," she says firmly, turning a hard look on Christina, "it's not at all unreasonable to ask that. But the answer is no, he has definitely not been seeing anyone." Something inside me relaxes at that answer coming from Cara.

"He's still too hung up on you," Christina says, nudging me again. An odd lurching sensation goes through my stomach. I'm not quite sure if it's a good or bad feeling.

Cara purses her lips thoughtfully. "Objectively, that's not necessarily true," she says. "The program prohibits dating for at least the first six months, so even if he had wanted to 'move on,' he would have had to wait until he had permission from his sponsor and his advisors. It's a lengthy process."

"Yeah, well, speaking as one of his advisors," Christina interrupts, "I can tell you that he had no interest in the subject. We finally granted him permission because it was on the list of items to review, but he didn't care at all."

The answer reassures me even more, but I'm not sure I want to hear them continue debating it, so I take the opportunity to shift the subject a little.

"You're one of his advisors?" I ask Christina.

"Oh, yeah…" she answers awkwardly, looking like she isn't sure she was supposed to say that. For the first time, it occurs to me that the support program probably has confidentiality rules.

But apparently they don't bind Cara. She glances over at us as she begins rolling out some type of dough. "Yes," she answers. "The program requires that every participant pick two advisors – one male and one female – who are around them regularly. The goal is to extend the program into daily life, to help the participant learn to communicate better and to replace bad habits with better ones."

She shakes a little flour onto the dough before adding, "Four selected Zeke and Christina."

Christina rolls her eyes as she says, "And it's been a boat-load of fun, let me tell you…." I raise a curious eyebrow, and she smirks. "For the first five months or so, it was like trying to get a statue to talk."

I smile a little, but I understand what she means. Tobias has always been secretive and tight-lipped, and I'm sure it was a monumental effort to get him to open up more. But at the same time, he must have been serious about wanting to change some habits if he picked her for that role. He always used to complain about her "loud-mouthed Candor tendencies," but they would have been very effective for this.

"We finally worked out a deal," Christina continues. "When he was clearly mad or stressed but didn't want to talk about it, I'd send him on a walk, and he'd go – no questions asked. That gave him time to calm down and think, and then we'd talk later, whenever he was ready." She shrugs. "Or more often, he'd talk to Zeke afterwards. But at least he stopped bottling everything up so badly."

She gives me a strange half-smile as she adds, "That deal proved to be _really_ helpful when Uriah told him about _The Kiss_. That would have been _ugly_ otherwise."

For a moment, I just stand there, my muscles locked. I somehow never pictured Uriah telling anyone about that. Particularly not Tobias.

"How did he react?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"A little like a live volcano, I'd say," Christina answers with a straight face. "But I have to give him credit. He didn't actually blow his top – he just looked… _scary_. Zeke and I took turns sending him on walks for the next three hours. Every time he came back, we'd take one look at him and make him leave again." She chuckles slightly, shaking her head at the memory.

"But he calmed down?" I ask, not entirely sure what answer I want.

"Eventually…. But you know, after all that walking, he just asked one question in the end. I guess it was all he'd been thinking about." She quirks a knowing eyebrow at me before adding, "He asked if you kissed back."

The tension in me solidifies into a lump in my stomach. "What…." My voice catches, and I have to clear my throat to continue. "What did Uriah answer?"

Christina's eyebrows climb into her hair, and her mouth drops open for a second as she grabs my arms excitedly. "Oh my god," she squeaks out. "Spill! What didn't Uriah tell us? Do you _like_ him?"

"No," I answer quickly, shaking my head emphatically. "It's not like that. He just…. He caught me by surprise, and I didn't react right away." I bite my lip before adding, "I don't know how he interpreted that." I look directly at Christina so she'll know I'm telling the truth. "But I don't like Uriah… _that_ way. I truly don't."

Christina sighs, looking almost disappointed by the lack of juicy gossip. "Well, you're in luck," she says. "He interpreted it correctly. Or at least he told Four that – he said it was clear you weren't interested."

I sag slightly in relief, the tension leaving me all at once. I'm glad there was no misunderstanding about that. It would just cause awkwardness with Uriah, and I want us to still be friends. And even though I probably shouldn't care, I definitely don't want Tobias thinking that I kissed someone else.

"I'm just about done here," Cara says as she crosses to the sink to wash her hands. "If you want to show her the rest of the place, Christina, I'll join you in the gathering room."

But it's difficult to focus on the rest of the tour. My thoughts keep returning to Tobias, wondering so many things. I've spent the last year trying to figure out how I feel about him, alternating between trying to get over him and thinking that maybe someday we'll get back together. Every time I think I've figured it out, something throws me back to square one.

_Get a grip, Tris_ , I tell myself firmly as Christina finishes showing me the dining room. I haven't heard a word she said about it.

We move into the gathering room next. It's a large space, with four extra-long couches forming a square for conversation and some additional seating nearby. It's hard for me to imagine how they use this room, since there was almost no socializing in Abnegation, and I wasn't in Dauntless long enough to get a sense of their customs. I suppose I'll find out.

We're about to head into the game room when something catches my attention. I don't know what it is, exactly, but some instinct makes me turn my head toward the door that leads to the hallway.

Tobias is standing in the doorway, his deep blue eyes watching me intently. He's silent, and I don't know how long he's been there, though it can't have been more than a minute.

For a long time, we just stare at each other. _God, I'd forgotten how handsome he is._ The sight melts something inside me, and suddenly it's as if we've never been apart. All of the feelings that I thought I had long since controlled come rushing back, and I realize I was a fool to ever think I was over him. I'm nowhere near. The intensity of the realization frightens me.

But as Tobias said once, fear doesn't shut me down. It wakes me up. That must be why I cross the room to him, my eyes still locked on his.

"Hi," I say softly when we're only a few feet apart.

His voice jumps a little as he answers. "Hi, Tris." He swallows nervously. Any reserve I had left disappears in that moment. I step closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my ear against his chest the way I used to. I don't know what we are to each other at this point, or where things will go from here, but for now, I just want to hold him.

For a full two seconds, he stands completely still, his whole body rigid and his heart racing. And then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him tightly as he drops his face into my hair. I can feel him trembling very slightly and can hear his uneven breathing. It matches my own, and I know his emotions are just as strong as mine right now.

"Four," Christina says, and I want to tell her to go away, to let us just hold each other this way forever. It's easier like this. Everything is easier to face when we're in each other's arms.

"Four," she says again, her voice louder. This time, Tobias tenses, and I feel him lift his head to look at her.

"Ten minutes," she says, her voice somewhat apologetic.

For a moment, I'm just confused, and judging by the expression on Tobias' face when I look up, he is too. Their eyes lock briefly before he nods, stepping away from me and letting his arms drop.

"I'll be back soon," he tells me. Before I can respond, he's out the door.

I turn back to Christina, a mixture of confusion and anger filling me. "Why did you do that?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "I wanted to talk to him!"

"I know," she says, her tone serious and gentler than usual, "and I'm sorry. But part of me still worries about the two of you together." She bites her lip. "You bring out so much emotion in each other, and that's both good and bad, you know? So, I wanted to make sure he'll listen even when _you_ 're involved, and even at a moment like this. It seemed like a good test…."

For a moment longer, I stare at her, fighting off my irritation. I don't like that she interfered, and I don't like that she apparently thinks she needs to protect us from each other. But I've spent a lot of time in the last year trying to understand other people's points of view, and the reality is, I can see hers.

"Did he pass?" I finally ask, as calmly as I can.

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath. "Yeah," she says again, her gaze meeting mine. "But just…whatever you do with him, just take it slowly, okay? Make sure it works for both of you."

I look down the hallway in the direction Tobias went, my eyes on the door that leads to the stairway. I don't answer Christina aloud, but I nod, because she's right. It would be foolish to rush this – whatever _this_ ends up being.


	46. Chapter 46: Tobias – Reconciliation

** Chapter 46: Tobias – Reconciliation **

I don't know what's up with Christina. It's been months since she or Zeke asked me to take a walk. They both know I'm a good enough judge of myself at this point to leave on my own when I need to. I have been for a while.

And it's not like I was out of control. My emotions were – are – high from seeing Tris. Of course, they are…but not in a bad way. Certainly not in a dangerous way. There was no legitimate reason for Christina to send me out here.

I sigh, running a hand along the back of my neck as I start down the old familiar route. As a guess, this is Christina's way of making sure I'm still listening to her, so she'll know she can keep Tris safe if she ever needs to. And objectively, I'm glad Tris has a friend who cares that much about her. But I also know it's misplaced worry. For the first time in my life, I'm not afraid that I'll turn into Marcus. I finally trust myself enough for that, and I like the feeling too much to screw it up.

Someone brushes against me on the busy sidewalk, and I shift to the side to give him room to pass. It's been a long time since I walked this route. My feet still have it memorized from when I used to pound it a few times a week. Back then, I was frustrated with Amar's condition, and I missed Tris so much it _hurt_. Between that and the mess the city was in, I was angry more often than not, and it seemed utterly unrealistic to control that fury, let alone to discuss it with anyone.

It didn't help that I _hated_ the support program at first. There was no way I wanted to get together with strangers and talk about my rotten childhood. I only went to a second meeting because I promised my mother – and I definitely wouldn't have kept going after that if my nightmares hadn't been so full of Tris.

But gradually, my attitude shifted. I kept hearing my own thoughts and experiences coming out of the other group members' mouths, and that made them seem less like strangers. And then I began to listen to the responses they got from the more experienced members, and I realized that someone always had a suggestion to offer – something that had helped them in a similar situation. Most of the suggestions were good, and that's what finally won me over.

I'm very glad now that I stuck with it. Over time, the other group members have become some of my closest friends, particularly my sponsor, Kevin. It's hard to imagine my life without them. We help each other overcome our scars and face our fears in a way that Dauntless never really did. We're stronger together.

When it comes down to it, I suppose that's why I'm walking right now, even though I know I don't need it. It's a show of faith in the program that's made such a difference for me, and of faith in Christina for that matter. She helped me through one of the darkest stretches of my life; I can take a ten-minute trek now if it helps her feel better about my being around Tris.

But we'll have a problem if she tries this again when I get back, because I _will_ be talking to Tris tonight. I've waited too long not to.

My feet round the corner as my mind focuses on _her_. I can still feel the electrical energy running along every part of me she touched. It's not really surprising, but in a way I'd hoped it wouldn't happen anymore. That would have made it far easier to just be friends if that's what Tris wants. Instead, it will be every bit as difficult as I expected.

At least she's here, I tell myself. If she didn't want anything to do with me, she wouldn't have agreed to move into the same "mini-faction" as me. And she certainly wouldn't have hugged me. No, she clearly wants to see me. The question is what she wants from there.

I try not to let hope creep in. I know what _I_ want, but I have to be realistic. So, as I've been doing since I learned Tris was moving back, I try to prepare myself to be nothing more than friends. I'm pretty sure I can make that work for a while, if I can avoid touching her, or smelling her unique fragrance, or looking at her too much. If I can hope that maybe someday the relationship will evolve into something more….

The biggest problem will be if she starts dating someone else. Christina said she hasn't so far, much to my relief, but I know it's just a matter of time. And there's no way I could watch that. My heart starts pounding harder at even the thought of it. I breathe deeply to slow it again, calming myself.

I have no idea how I'll handle that situation when it inevitably arises. I can't realistically move out, not while Amar still needs therapy. All the equipment is there. Besides, I know he needs my presence in between sessions, just as I need my friends in my daily life. It wouldn't be fair to abandon him, even if I wanted to – which I emphatically don't. I rub the back of my neck in irritation. I'll just have to find a way to make things work. This is my problem to deal with. It's a consequence of my mistakes, and I can't shift the burden to anyone else. I've done too much of that as it is.

I turn at the next corner, not bothering to check my watch. This route has always clocked in at right about ten minutes, and there's no reason to expect it to be different today, even if I haven't walked it in months.

_I'm not giving Tris enough credit,_ I realize abruptly. She's not going to parade a new boyfriend in front of me, even if things do go down that path. That would be cruel, and that's one adjective I'd certainly never use to describe her. I just need to trust her.

Kevin always tells me to take things one day at a time. If it's too much to tackle doing something forever, just focus on doing it for a day, and then another day, and another one. And he's right. I don't know if I can just be Tris' friend forever, but I can be that today if she wants. And tomorrow. For now, that's enough.

* * *

Tris is standing in the gathering room, only a few feet from the door, when I return. Her eyes lock on mine instantly, as they did earlier, and my breath catches at the energy in them. It's as if she's radiating _life_ , or at least everything that makes it worth living. I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful.

"Can we go somewhere private to talk?" she asks immediately, catching me a little off guard, and I find myself glancing at Christina to see if the two of them have been arguing. But she just nods, giving me a half smile. Apparently, I satisfied whatever concerns she had earlier.

"Yeah," I answer Tris. My voice sounds deep even to my own ears.

I hesitate for just a second before closing my fingers gently around her elbow, guiding her toward my studio apartment. It's a problematic location, given our history there, but I don't want to use her place. If things don't go well, she'd have bad associations with her room before she even sleeps there. I won't do that to her.

When we reach my room, I release her arm and gesture for her to enter first. That way, she can choose whether to sit or look around, though I know which she'll pick. She's too curious not to explore a little.

I look around too, trying to remember what this place looked like the last time she saw it. I'm pretty sure that everything has changed except for one item. That item tells a lot, though, and I'm not surprised when her eyes go to it immediately – the mattress on the floor, still in the same spot. I never could get myself to change it, not after the night we spent on it.

She looks at it for a moment, nodding slightly to herself, before she turns back to me.

"How are you, Tobias?" Her voice is carefully neutral.

"Okay," I answer just as neutrally. "Busy."

She nods. "Cara indicated that." She looks at me as if searching for a particular response. I'm not sure what. "She said they had to take you out of the cooking rotation because you were always busy."

I shrug. "It's getting better. Amar doesn't need as much therapy as he used to." I give a half smile and add, "And I don't, either. It's now just a session a week for each of us."

She doesn't show any surprise, so presumably she already knows about the support program. Christina must have described it during one of their weekly calls. Technically, she shouldn't have done that, since the program is supposed to be kept confidential, but it doesn't bother me. It's easier if I don't have to go into all the details.

"I've been in a support group," I continue, in case Tris doesn't want to admit she knows, "for people like me... People who were abused as kids, and who have a…temper…now." I try to chuckle to lighten the statement, but nothing comes out. "It's been helpful." I don't know why I still have a hard time saying this, but I have to push myself to add, "A lot more than I expected."

For a moment, we're both silent as I look away awkwardly. Then, Tris responds. "I'm glad." She says it so simply I look up again, meeting her eyes. They're almost pure gray in this light. Abnegation eyes. They remind me to be selfless.

"How about you?" I ask quietly. "How have you been?"

One side of her mouth lifts. "Busy," she answers shortly, and suddenly I feel dumb for using that word for my own life, after the job she's had for the last year.

"Yeah…" I say, rubbing the back of my neck. I make myself meet her gaze as I add, "I'm sorry I left you with all that, Tris. It wasn't remotely fair."

She shrugs, moving around the apartment a little and looking at things. "I understand why you did," she finally says with a sigh. "And realistically, if _I'd_ been the one to reach the Control Computer, _you_ might have ended up as president." The words startle me. I chose her because she was the only person I felt was qualified and trustworthy enough to handle the position – does she really think the same of me?

She moves a little farther into my room, glancing at my computer on its simple metal desk and continuing to my bureau. She stops, looking at the wooden frame sitting on top of it, and at the photograph within it.

"Interesting choice," she comments, picking it up for a closer look. I can't see it from this angle, but I don't have to. Every detail of it is permanently ingrained in my memory. Her face flushed with anger, her hair flowing back in the blast of air coming through Dauntless' entrance, her mouth slightly open from breathing hard.

"When was this taken?" she asks.

I hesitate, but I've learned the value of honesty in the last year, and I don't see a point in trying to hide this now.

"When you were leaving Dauntless, after Lauren's fear landscape." I don't add, _after you hit me because I acted like a jerk._

She quirks an eyebrow at me, and I know an explanation is in order. I'm just not sure how to phrase this….

"It's a reminder," I begin, searching for the right words. "I really messed up that day, and you were furious with me. And I was terrified when I realized you'd left the compound. I didn't know what would happen – if Eric would figure out you were Divergent, or if you'd be kicked out of Dauntless, or if you'd ever forgive me, or if I'd even see you again. I didn't see how things could possibly work out…. But just a few hours later, you were safe, and you called me your boyfriend for the first time." I pause, meeting her eyes. "It reminds me that there's always hope, no matter how bad things seem."

Her mouth opens slightly as she stares at me, and I can't help but notice how much she currently looks like that photograph. Her hair is a bit shorter now, falling a little below her shoulders, and she's slightly taller, but she still stands straight and confident, radiating strength. She's breathtaking.

"Tobias," she says softly, "what do you expect to happen here?"

An odd laugh escapes me. "Tris, I don't have any expectations." A memory flashes through me, of the same words back in my apartment in Dauntless after her fear landscape. I wish life were that simple again – that the biggest obstacle facing us was a fear of intimacy.

"I screwed up," I admit flatly. "Badly. I don't have words to describe how sorry I am. And I know I don't have a right to expect _anything_ at this point." I swallow hard. "But what I'd _like_ is for us to find a way forward. I've missed you." My voice breaks a little on the statement. "And I'd like to be around you in whatever way you're willing to grant."

She holds my eyes for another few seconds before turning away. Her shoulders shake almost imperceptibly.

"You're sorry for what, exactly?" she finally asks. I don't know what to make of that question.

"I think that's pretty obvious, Tris," I answer a bit too gruffly.

"I don't think it is," she responds, her voice trembling very slightly. She turns back to me, and I can see the tears she's holding back. They break my heart a little more.

"The thing is," she continues, "my ribs healed a long time ago. But what continued to hurt after that – what's hurt every day since then – is your absence." She pauses, struggling with what to say, and I feel a weight start sinking slowly through my stomach.

"You left. You didn't even let me say goodbye. I didn't know if you were okay. Sometimes, I didn't even know if you were alive. And I had no idea if I'd ever see you again." She looks straight at me, her eyes burning into mine as she lets the tears begin to flow.

"That hurt, Tobias. That hurt a lot."

I stare, taking a tentative step toward her before I realize I've moved. I stop when I see anger mixing in with the hurt in her expression. She doesn't want me too close right now.

"I didn't know what else to do," I say softly.

"You could have _talked_ to me," she responds, the anger stronger now. "You could have asked what I wanted. Don't you think I had a right to be part of that decision?"

"No," I answer firmly. Her eyes lock on mine again, alive and livid and tantalizingly beautiful. I continue despite them.

"You would have forgiven me. I saw that in your face as you were blacking out from what I did to you. And that was _not_ what either of us needed." She starts to interrupt, but I raise my hand, my palm out to stop her.

"No, listen to me, Tris! What I did was _not_ okay. It doesn't matter what triggered it. It doesn't matter that I was aiming at my father, and you just got in the way. The point is I got angry, and I got violent, and I hurt you, and that is _not acceptable_." She looks like she wants to protest, but I raise my voice and continue. "Think about it this way. Would it have been okay if I went after Uriah for kissing you, and hit you in the process? Or if God forbid, sometime down the road, we had a screaming baby keeping us up for days at a time and I went after him? Where's the line? What's a 'good' excuse?" She looks more hesitant now, and I add, "Life is stressful. It's full of triggers. I can't react by losing control and hurting the people I love. That's not the person I want to be."

She's silent, looking thoughtful. "I need to be able to respect myself," I tell her, my voice a little gentler. "I need to be a good person. A good son, and brother, and friend, and maybe someday a boyfriend again, and a husband, and a father." I look her firmly in the eyes, ignoring her discomfort at the last three items. "And none of those start with me breaking your ribs and then continuing with my life like it didn't happen."

For a long time, we just stare at each other.

"Are you that kind of person now?" Tris finally asks. Her voice is rough.

"I'm a lot closer." I scratch the back of my neck and then add something Kevin repeats frequently. "Life is a process. We never reach perfection, but we should always keep working toward it." I meet Tris' eyes solidly again. "I'll probably always have a temper, but if we were back in Philadelphia again now, back in that same situation, I _know_ I wouldn't hurt you. I might still deck Marcus. I'm not a Saint. But I wouldn't lose control like I did before."

She nods. There's a trace of humor in her voice as she says, "Well, Marcus certainly deserved to be decked."

The corners of my mouth lift a little. "That he did."

We're silent for another moment before Tris says, "You still could have called, you know."

"I thought about it," I answer honestly. "Quite a few times. But Christina said you almost never asked about me. I figured you must have moved on…." I try not to show how painful that idea is. "And after everything I'd put you through…I wasn't going to interfere if you were healing."

She shakes her head quickly, watching the floor as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "I didn't move on," she says very quietly, her voice pained. "It just hurt too much to ask." The words reach deep into my heart and rip something out. I close my eyes.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Tris," I say, my voice rough. "I was so determined not to. But it seems to be all I did."

It's quiet enough to hear our uneven breathing.

Tris is the one to break the silence. "No," she says unexpectedly, "that's not true." I open my eyes again, meeting her gaze uncertainly.

"It's not true at all," she continues, her voice getting firmer. "I didn't miss you because I'm some kind of masochist. I missed you because of…you. Because you stood with me over and over through everything we faced. You saved my life – more than once, I might add – and you helped me recover from the horrible things I had to do during the war. You tried so hard to protect me. And you always loved me, even when I didn't deserve it. Even when _I_ hurt _you_."

I watch her a bit warily, not sure where she's going with this. I didn't expect her to defend me.

"And before you left," she says, "you gave me a gift of sorts…. You let me see myself from your perspective. I thought I was this uninteresting, plain girl…."

I can't help but laugh at the idea that she could _ever_ be that.

She gives a little smile and adds, "Don't get me wrong – I knew I had some strengths, but I honestly couldn't figure out why someone like _you_ would want to be with someone like _me_."

She bites her lip and continues, "But you showed me why, and it changed the way I view myself. It made me feel strong and capable and worthwhile, and that helped me get through everything I had to tackle in this past year."

She takes a step closer, her eyes still locked on mine as she adds, "It would have been easy to be away from you if all you ever did was hurt me. It was hard because you've done _so much more than that_. Because you were worth missing."

She hesitates for just a moment and then says more quietly, "I don't think you ever believed it, but I loved you as much as you loved me, and for a lot of the same reasons."

My feet seem to be rooted in place, and if there are words to be found anywhere in this universe, I certainly don't know where. I've _always_ been sure that I loved Tris more than she loved me. _Always._ She never even said the words until after everything that happened in Erudite….

But she saw my broadcast. She felt exactly how much I love her, and she saw all the reasons why. And she's saying she felt the same way? I don't know how to grasp the concept.

"Do you really mean that?" I somehow manage to ask.

"Yes." She says it quietly but in a tone that leaves no doubt.

My chest is pounding now, making it difficult to breathe. I'm staring at Tris, and she's staring back at me with a kind of defiance, with her eyes that are so alive they make everything inside me wake up.

"Do you…do you still feel that way?" I'm not entirely sure I say it aloud.

The defiant look crumples, and she lowers her eyes so she's not looking at me anymore. Disappointment crashes through me. Of course, she doesn't feel like that anymore. Why would she?

She kicks at the floor a little, neither of us meeting the other's gaze. I don't expect her to answer, but she finally does.

"Feelings like that don't go away easily," she says awkwardly, her voice breaking a little.

It takes me a second to process the words, and then my eyes snap back to her as an incredible surge of love and affection and hope and pain twists through me all at once. I close the distance between us without noticing, only realizing it when my hands are touching her face. My fingers trace her cheeks and run lightly through her hair, tucking it behind her ears so I can see her better.

"No, they don't," I murmur. My heart is racing even faster now, and electrical charges are crackling all along my hands, but I don't care.

"Tris," I say, waiting until her eyes return to mine. "I've messed so many things up. If you need time to figure out how you want to move forward, I completely understand. If you want to try just being friends, I'll find a way to make that work. I swear I won't make things hard on you, no matter what." I swallow. "But if there's _any_ chance you want to give us another try…you should know that I still love you. I always will. And I will _never_ leave you like that again."

She stares, reaching up to brush her fingertips along my jawline. The contact feels so good. "I love you, too," she whispers, and I'm pretty sure my heart stops completely.

She bites her lip. "But is that enough?" Her eyes shift away again as she hesitantly adds, "It's not like a lack of love was ever our problem."

I lift her chin gently, getting her to look at me again. "That's true," I answer calmly. "But I have to say that still being in love…seems like a pretty good starting point for rebuilding a relationship."

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and I see one start to form on hers. It makes her eyes come alive, her pupils wide and dark and Dauntless and gorgeous. I'm not sure which of us moves, or if we both do, but suddenly our lips are together. I'm holding her and tasting her and feeling her warmth against me. The kiss is incredible – filled with sweetness and passion and want and the deep, burning desire to erase a year of separation and make everything right between us.

When we finally pull apart, just a little, I lower my forehead to rest on hers, breathing her air. She smells so good.

It's hard to say how long we stand like that. The concept of time seems to have disappeared. But eventually Tris speaks. "I think," she says slowly, "that we should try dating. We never really had a chance to do that."

"Okay," I answer simply, without hesitation. I can definitely agree to that. "I'm available right now, in fact. Does now work for you?"

She laughs, pulling back enough to look at me again. There's blue mixed in now in her ever-changing eyes. It's a stunning effect.

"Saturday, Tobias," she says firmly. "You can spend the day showing me everything that's changed in the city."

I can feel my eyebrows scrunching together as I think about where to begin. There's so much to show, and I have to do this right…. "That'll take a lot more than a day," I respond thoughtfully.

A smile spreads across her face. "That's kind of the point…" she murmurs.

An answering grin forms from deep inside me. I lean down again, kissing her forehead gently as she slides her arms around my waist. We stand there for a long time, just holding each other. I've had very few moments of pure happiness in my life, but this is one of them.


	47. Chapter 47: Tris – Reconnecting

** Chapter 47: Tris – Reconnecting **

Tobias holds my hand as we walk from his apartment to the dining room. He keeps stealing glances at me and grinning, as if he can't believe this is real. I understand the feeling. It does seem like a lot of the dreams I've had over the past year, and only the solidity of his presence reassures me that this is reality.

As we get close, I find my palms getting moist with nervousness. I've spoken with Christina pretty much every week while we've been apart, but I've had much less contact with the others, and it's a bit overwhelming to think about seeing them all at once. Particularly since I'll be walking in with Tobias, and I know that will instantly launch speculation about what's going on with us.

I remember separating just before entering the dining hall in Dauntless, back when we were trying to hide our relationship, and I debate doing that now. But Tobias grips my hand more firmly as we approach the doorway, and I realize he doesn't want to hide this. I suppose he's right. There's no reason to keep the truth from our friends.

Ultimately, though, it's hard to say if anyone notices our hands. The moment we enter the room, I'm greeted by a chorus of voices calling to me in welcome, followed immediately by those same people launching themselves toward me excitedly. It's almost impossible to distinguish individual words in the chaos, except for the common theme of my name being repeated loudly and enthusiastically, but the message is clear. They're all genuinely glad to see me. I can't help but smile in response.

Tobias releases my fingers and draws back a little to give the group enough space to surround me, and suddenly I'm hugging Zeke and then George and am leaning down to embrace Shauna in her wheelchair. Christina and Cara latch onto me, even though I saw them both earlier, and I'm vaguely surprised when Amar pulls me into his arms, holding me close for a long time before stepping back and saying, "Man, it's good to see you, Tris."

Uriah is the last to reach me, since he was the farthest away initially, but he throws his arms around me eagerly as if anxious to make up for being last. I don't hesitate to return the hug. But when he pulls back far enough to wink at Tobias and then leans in as if to kiss me, I yank away, startled. Uriah and Zeke burst into laughter simultaneously.

"Still with that death wish," Tobias growls, stepping forward to claim my hand again while glaring at Uriah. But there's an undertone of amusement in his voice that tells me the two of them have come to terms since the kiss.

Uriah throws his hands up in mock surrender, grinning at me. "Hey, don't worry. I'm not dumb. I picked up on your subtle signals last time." He looks Tobias straight in the eye and adds, "What can I say? She wants to marry me and have my babies."

Shauna snorts. "Yeah, as long as they're blue-eyed and have four fears," she says, her eyes on the hand I have linked with Tobias'. From her height in the wheelchair, I guess it's not surprising she noticed before the others did.

Christina is the first to follow her gaze. She smirks before commenting loudly, "That didn't take long."

I feel a blush working its way up my cheeks, but before I can respond, Zeke answers just as loudly, "And yet it's long overdue." He claps Tobias on the back in some mix of approval and congratulations while smiling at me.

There's a general chorus of agreement from the others, and as I look around, I realize that everyone here seems to be delighted to see Tobias and me together again, even the ones I wouldn't have expected to react that way. Uriah grins widely, with no trace of sadness or jealousy in his gaze, and Cara gives her trademark little smile, making her approval clear.

But Amar's reaction is the strongest. He beams like a proud father as he places one hand on Tobias' shoulder and the other on mine, looking back and forth between us. "Now, that's a sight for sore eyes," he says. He squeezes my shoulder lightly as he adds, "You two belong together."

I nod, trying to think of a response, but right now I just wish everyone would stop staring at us.

Amar appears to sense my discomfort. He pats Tobias' shoulder a final time and then turns to his husband, taking George's arm and leading him toward the table.

"So, I hear there's food," he says to the others. "Let's eat it." The last statement is a command, his voice radiating authority, and I'm sure that must be the tone he used during years of training initiates. I don't know when he last used it, but judging by the others' reactions, it's been a while. They start a little, exchanging glances, before grinning and following him to the table.

I pause to glance up at Tobias and find myself caught in his deep blue eyes. He's staring at me intently, his face filled with a combination of pride and love and joy that makes my heart leap.

"Welcome home," he murmurs. His words and his expression seem to reflect the feeling in the entire room, and in that moment, I know that this is a place where I'll be happy. It may be my truest home yet.

Impulsively, I stand on the tips of my toes and kiss him. Only our lips touch, but it's enough to make a wide smile split his face. He makes no attempt to hide it as he leads me to the table to join our friends.

* * *

For our first date, Tobias takes me to a park that recently reopened north of Clark and LaSalle. There's an ice-skating pond there that is surrounded by walking paths, with small stores and stands scattered through the area. The part of me that ran a country for a year sees it as a good example of how the city is changing with its shift from faction control to smaller communities. People move around the city more now, and with that movement, businesses have sprung up to sell food and goods and entertainment to passers-by.

It's a clear day, but cold – ideal ice-skating weather, we're told as we rent skates from a small building by the frozen pond. An older couple runs the business. Judging by the tattoos peeking out from their coats, they were Dauntless at one time, and probably factionless after that. I suspect they recognize us – me as the former president and Tobias as Evelyn's son who won freedom for them. At least it seems that way from how they look at us a little too long and hang onto our words a little too eagerly, but they don't say anything about our identities, and neither do we.

Neither of us has skated before, so the couple gives us lessons on basic techniques before turning us loose on the deserted pond. I'm glad there's no one here to see us, since our initial efforts are certainly not elegant. I flail and flop and feel generally foolish. But at least my short stature works somewhat to my advantage. It's easier to keep my balance, and I don't have as far to fall when I do. Tobias has a much harder time.

"Ow," he says, looking somewhat embarrassed as he shifts from his crashed position to a sitting one. He rubs his left knee.

"I think you're moving too slowly," I tell him thoughtfully. "You need a little momentum to avoid falling."

"A minute ago, you told me I was going too fast," he complains.

I laugh. "Well, you were, but you overcompensated. There's a middle ground, you know."

He looks at me as I stand there, not moving but not falling either, and I realize I'm not exactly proving my point.

"Show me," he says skeptically, and I almost do before I catch the expression on his face.

"You just want to watch me instead of skating yourself," I state flatly, managing to cross my arms over my chest without falling.

"Well, yeah…" he replies with a grin. "It gives me a better view, and I don't hurt myself. That's kind of a no-brainer, Tris."

I watch him for a moment, trying to keep a straight face. "Are you admitting," I ask slowly, "that the mighty Four has been defeated by a slippery surface?"

"I think it's more the skates than the ice, to be honest," he answers, one corner of his mouth twitching, "but yes. You have found my limits, Six." I can't resist the smile any longer as I hobble over to him, extending both hands in an offer to pull him to his feet. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Seriously, Tris? I think I'm twice your weight."

"I'm strong," I answer a bit defensively. "Besides, I'm assuming you can still support _some_ of your own weight as you stand. You don't have to put it all on me."

"True," he mutters, grasping my hands. I pull, but so does he, bringing me down on top of him and immediately closing his arms around me. He rolls to the side before I can react, and suddenly I'm pinned on the ice with him lying on top of me.

"I don't _have_ to, no," he murmurs with a sly smile, "but it's much more fun this way."

"And much less like skating," I say, struggling not to laugh. I fail miserably.

He hovers over me, his mouth inches from mine, his breath mixing with mine in the frosty air. "That makes it even better," he says softly before kissing me.

Every part of me responds as I fit my lips to his and run a gloved hand up the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Over the past year, I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoy kissing him. But now I admit to myself how much I missed this. How much I missed _him_.

When we finally break apart, he pulls me back to a sitting position, but neither of us attempts to get on our feet again. It's kind of nice to just sit here right now.

"Everyone seems to be calling you Four again," I comment, thinking of how I just used that name myself. "Do you prefer that?"

He shrugs. "I'm okay with either name now. I usually introduce myself as Tobias, but the people who have always called me Four still do. It doesn't bother me." He reaches over, running his fingers lightly along my cheek and tucking the loose hair behind my ear. "I still like it when _you_ call me Tobias, though."

He smirks, and I feel a little pink creep into my cheeks. In a way, I don't like having others use his real name. There was something special about it being a secret he shared just with me. But it makes sense that it would be easier for him to use that name now that his father is gone. The reasons he had for hiding it don't exist anymore.

"Do you still have four fears?" I ask out of curiosity, wondering if he finally lost his fear of Marcus.

"I'm not sure," he answers thoughtfully, gazing out over the empty pond. His lips turn downward just a little. "I haven't gone through my fear landscape in months."

I pull my knees up in front of me, wrapping my arms around them for warmth. "Was Marcus still in there the last time?"

Tobias shakes his head. "No." He doesn't elaborate, and I don't push him. After a moment, he adds, "But you were in there twice, so the number was still four." His voice is a little uneven on the admission.

I'm not sure how to react. I remember him telling me before that he had to watch me die in his landscape, and I imagine that fear is still there.

"What was the second one?" I ask. He might not choose to answer, but the Erudite in me wants to know.

He pulls his legs up in front of him the way mine are, resting his arms on his knees and placing his chin on top of them. He doesn't look at me.

With a small sigh, he says, "I watched you marry Uriah."

_Oh._ I'm silent for a moment, thinking. I wonder when exactly he went through his landscape, if it was just after Uriah told him about the kiss. Or if it was later – if the fear stayed even after Uriah said I didn't kiss him back. I shrug the questions off. They don't really matter. What matters is how much it bothered Tobias.

"I could never be with Uriah like that, you know," I tell him. Tobias turns his head to look at me, his eyes dark. "He's too…Amity," I add. One side of my mouth lifts. "It would be like eating their bread every day. It would drive me nuts."

For several seconds, Tobias just watches me, weighing my words. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards. "I'd forgotten…" he comments, "that you like me because I'm not very nice."

A trickle of amusement spreads through me as I remember what I said while under the peace serum. "And I'm not, either," I respond. "So, we're just right for each other."

His gaze holds mine, his eyes deep blue and filled with emotion despite his attempt at levity. They make me serious again. "It's only ever been you, Tobias," I say softly.

His jaw tightens for a split second, and he swallows, staring at me even more intensely. His hands cup my cheeks gently, and then he hooks his fingers behind my ears and pulls me to him, bringing my lips to his. There's an odd mix of tension and relief in the kiss at first, but it slowly melts into a deep tenderness. I'm left a bit breathless when we finally break apart.

"Maybe I'll only have three fears now," he says with a small smile.

"I wonder how many I have?" I mutter, suddenly curious. Most of mine were related to losing control, and I suspect those have improved after a year of having more responsibility than I wanted. I've learned to be quite happy to let go a little.

"You can find out if you really want," Tobias answers. "That part of Dauntless is open to the public now."

I nod vaguely, considering the idea. "Maybe at some point…." But I doubt it. That approach feels like something that applied to me as an initiate, something that's very disconnected from the person I am now. I prefer to address my strengths and weaknesses in real life these days.

I rub my hands along my legs, trying to warm up. It's cold sitting on the ice like this.

"Do you want to skate any more?" Tobias asks, noticing my movement.

"No, I'm good," I answer, preferring to get off the ice to somewhere a bit warmer. "Maybe we could go for a walk instead?"

"Sure," he says with a smile. I don't get the impression he's a big fan of skating. He shifts a little, trying to regain his footing on the metal blades. "If I can figure out how to get up."

That proves to be difficult, but between us, we manage to get back on our feet, holding both hands to steady each other as we make our way slowly back to the shop to return our skates and retrieve our shoes. The couple says a friendly goodbye, expressing their hope of seeing us back again, and we give a polite, non-committal answer before heading off.

Tobias laces his long fingers through my gloved ones as we start down the walking path. It winds around the pond and then continues through the trees that overgrew the area during the decades this park was unused. They've been trimmed back now, but they still loom overhead, looking barren without their leaves.

"I'll be glad when spring gets here," I comment idly. There's nothing like returning to the city of my birth during the coldest time of the year.

"It'll happen eventually," Tobias answers, looking around at the empty park. "This place will be a lot busier then." He releases my hand and puts his arm around my shoulders instead, pulling me close to him to share his body heat. I snuggle against him gladly.

"When did this park reopen?" I ask curiously.

"Last summer," he responds without pause, and I wonder how he knows the answer so readily. He seems to read my thoughts. "My mother lives about a block that way," he says, using his free hand to gesture to our left. "I used to walk past here on my way there and back home. Now, I walk through the park instead. It's nicer."

I haven't thought much about his mother since I returned. We had some indirect contact during my time in office, while she and Anna were working on bringing Chicago into the UCA, but I left most of that task to my grandmother. I told myself it was because the two of them had already established a decent relationship while they prepared the city for attack. But if I'm honest, I have to admit that I just didn't want to see Evelyn. I kept remembering what she said when we first met – that I was only temporary in Tobias' life, while she was permanent. At the time, it seemed like she'd been proven right, and I didn't want to see the smug look I imagined she'd wear when she saw me.

It's different now. At some point, Evelyn and I will have to deal with each other, if things work out with Tobias and me. I glance at him, feeling the spark that still goes through me at even the sight of him. Of course, they'll work out, I realize. I can't imagine any other option.

"How are things with your mother?" I ask him.

He smiles a little. "Still complicated," he answers, lifting one shoulder. "But easier than they used to be." He hesitates for a second before adding, "She wants to see you, you know." I stiffen. I can't quite help it. He hugs me a bit closer before continuing. "It's not for anything bad. Believe it or not, she wants to apologize."

I raise an incredulous eyebrow at him, and he chuckles in response. "Really – she does. For multiple reasons, even. At some point, you should give her a chance to explain them." He doesn't press further, and we walk in silence as I think about what he said.

It's not like I ever got to know Evelyn well. I disliked her mostly for what she did to Tobias – how she abandoned him and then manipulated him. But I know more about her reasons now, and Tobias has clearly forgiven her for the worst of her offences. I should at least try again with her, for his sake.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll talk with her…."

He smiles a little, looking grateful. "I have dinner with her and my sister every Wednesday. You'd be more than welcome to join us." He pauses, scrunching his eyebrows together. "You know I have a sister, right?"

I nod. "Yeah, Christina told me about her. She lives in Candor with her adoptive parents, doesn't she?"

"Yes," he responds, sounding relieved that I already know this. I guess Christina's tendency to blab is helpful sometimes. "That's where we have dinner – with her and them. It's…interesting getting together with all of us. Certainly awkward at times, but it works overall."

"Are you sure I wouldn't be intruding?" I ask. "You don't get much time together, and I'd hate to take away from the little you have."

Tobias shakes his head quickly. "I want you there," he says firmly. The side of his mouth lifts again. "Besides, Margaret will be thrilled to see you. Trust me."

"Why?" I ask uncertainly, trying to figure out why a girl I've never met would care about me, other than maybe as the president. But that doesn't seem like something a typical Candor would admire.

Tobias takes a moment to answer. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. "You saved her from Eric."

My feet stop moving, and for a moment, I just stare at Tobias. The girl I helped in Candor was _his_ _sister?_ I replay that moment in my mind, trying to picture her, but I honestly barely looked at her at the time. There was so much going on. She was just a kid who needed help….

"Thank you for that, by the way," Tobias says softly, his eyes on mine. I nod awkwardly, not sure how else to react, but he continues, "And I'm sorry I got so angry at you over it."

I think about that for a moment. I remember him yelling at me that I was foolishly risking my life by going in there without a gun. Now that he knows who the girl was, he feels differently, but the thing is…it doesn't change what I did or why I did it.

"That's okay," I finally tell him. "In some ways, you were right. I _was_ being reckless." I look into his blue eyes for another second before adding, "Besides, you realize I can win pretty much any argument from now on just by reminding you of this…."

He laughs, wrapping his other arm around me and pulling me a little closer. "Well, at least some good came out of it, then," he murmurs, resting his forehead on mine.

"Yeah," I whisper, feeling his breath warming my face. "That's why I did it. It's my crazy Divergent powers. I can predict the future."

He's close enough that I can feel the grin turning his lips up. "I see," he says lightly. "And what do you predict I'm going to do now?"

I don't bother answering, at least not with words. Instead, I tilt my head up, my mouth finding his. He's warm and strong and here and _mine_. And in this moment, there's nothing I want more.

* * *

The next few months pass quickly. I spend time with my family and Tobias', and with each of my friends. They show me their jobs as well as what they do for fun, and they introduce me to people they know outside my new faction. We also have plenty of visitors – some I already know and others I don't.

In particular, it's good to see Tori again. She comes over every week or two to visit George and Amar, spending time with the brother she thought was dead for so many years. They have a great dynamic, and it's almost as much fun to watch them together as to see Zeke and Uriah.

Between all of them, my weekdays stay busy – filled with people and activities and a tremendous sense of belonging.

But the weekends are by far the best part of each week. Tobias and I explore the original factions, as well as the largest of the new ones and the non-faction activities that have cropped up around the city.

We start with the amusement park that is now open and is run by former factionless. We spend most of our evening in the bumper cars, swiping each other repeatedly before teaming up and clearing the floor of all competition. But we end the night on the Ferris wheel. Despite the height, Tobias rides it willingly, watching me almost the entire time. I look at him, too, even though I love the view and the feeling the height gives me.

Seeing him here reminds me of the first moment I realized I liked him. It was difficult for me to admit it at the time, but I can still feel the odd mix of weakness and strength that runs through me when his eyes are on me. I doubt that sensation will ever go away.

The next weekend, we visit a museum in Erudite. It covers the history of Chicago, as best they've been able to piece it together from pre-war books. It's intriguing to learn about the early days of the city, particularly given how much the entire area relied on the Great Lakes. I can't help but wonder how different things would have been without the water.

After that, we spend a day in Amity basking in a warm greenhouse as we take a painting class. We start by using watercolors to paint images of flowers on large sheets of paper, but Tobias and I find ourselves becoming progressively less obedient as the day wears on and the empty chatter of the others begins to get to us. I'm pretty sure they've eaten too much of the local bread, because no one could be that spacey on their own.

We end up painting each other's portrait in true Divergent style – using every possible color to create a bizarre version of the other. The images look like balls of color with big blue eyes in the center and wild hair surrounding them. I can barely contain my laughter when our confused teacher tries to praise us for doing our best to capture the sunflowers in front of us. Clearly, neither of us is cut out for Amity.

In Candor, we engage in a mock trial, each taking a side of a famous court case from many years back. I get into the role much more than I would have expected, presenting my arguments with a fervor that leaves Tobias staring at me, his expression unreadable. I figure it out afterwards, when he presses me against the wall and kisses me with a heat and intensity that makes everything inside me ache with want.

But we're not in nearly a private enough location for that activity, and we end up making a hasty exit when we're interrupted by the people coming in for the next case. We get some very dirty looks as we hurry away, but I can't help but feel it was worth it.

We travel to Abnegation the next weekend, going back to our roots. It's a serious event, as Abnegation always is, but there's a quiet joy in spending the day together, helping to repair a damaged building. I come to realize how much talent Tobias has in this arena as he fixes walls and plumbing and electrical wiring with obvious ease.

He tells me that he's been helping to get new factions up and running, including the one we live in, and I think he speaks more than I've ever heard him talk before as he describes some of the projects he's worked on and the people he's met in the process.

We save Dauntless for last, returning to the place that I expected to be my lifelong home but where I never ended up living after initiation. I'm excited to explore new activities and parts of the compound I never had a chance to see. So, I'm more than a little surprised when Tobias instead takes me to the top of the Hancock building to go zip-lining – an activity I've done before and one that certainly can't appeal to him with his fear of heights.

It makes a bit more sense once I realize we're going in a special double-harness instead of zipping down one at a time, but it's not until I see the expression on his face that I understand. He wants me to know that with me, he can handle anything.

We end up going headfirst, both of us facing down with him above me so he doesn't block my view. I'm pretty sure he keeps his eyes closed the entire time, given how he presses his head into my hair. And he grips me so tightly I have to pull his hands loose at one point in order to breathe. But overall, it's even more exhilarating than the first time, and I crow with joy as I extend my arms like wings and feel the wind whipping against my body. I'm not sure I've ever felt more alive than during that ride.

When we get back to his apartment afterwards, still flushed with adrenaline and eyes still blazing with energy, we make love for the first time since we got back together. And now is when I truly appreciate how different it is to have Tobias trust himself. Our first two times, so long ago, were gentle and loving and sweet, but this time is wild and passionate and absolutely amazing.

I freak out a little that week, worrying that things are so good between me and Tobias that we must have peaked and that everything will start to get worse now. But that doesn't happen. Instead, things somehow just keep getting better – better and better until I realize that I can no longer imagine my life without him.

He belongs to me, and I belong to him. And that's how it will always be.


	48. Epilogue: Tobias – Anniversary

** Epilogue: Tobias – Anniversary **

The kids have never been to Philadelphia. They've never seen a crowd this large, let alone seen their parents speak to it. And it's clear they don't know what to make of any of this.

Abigail sticks close to me, despite the fact that virtually our whole faction is here, so she has plenty of adults she knows nearby. I guess this is one of those times when a kid just wants her dad.

Eli, in the meantime, is in full meltdown mode. He slept almost the entire car ride from Chicago to here, and then he was awake most of the night in the hotel. So, now he's confused and off schedule, and he just wants to cling to his mother. But Tris is coordinating her speech with President Miller, so he's having to settle for me. And from the way he's thrashing in my arms and screaming at the top of his lungs, it's clear he's not happy about it.

"It's okay, Eli," Abigail says soothingly, reaching out in an attempt to stroke his head.

She's such a good big sister, and he normally listens to her well, so I know he must really be in a foul mood when he swats at her angrily and screams "No no no!" as loudly as he can.

"Hey," I say sharply, moving him out of reach of my daughter. "No hitting! We do _not_ hit each other." But he just wails, and I know he's too tired and upset to be rational right now. This whole situation is a lot for a seventeen-month-old to handle, after all.

"He just needs to cry it out," I tell Abigail, trying to ease her hurt feelings. She crosses her arms and glares at him in an affronted manner before she nods stiffly.

"I'm going to walk him around a bit," I add, talking over the noise that Eli is making. "Do you want to come with me or stay with George?" She looks at George, who's standing near the others as they're being prepped for their role in tonight's ceremony. He's one of her favorite people, but apparently that's not enough right now.

"I want to go with you," she answers.

"All right," I say, "but you have to stick near me." She nods again, looking serious, and I know she'll obey. She may only be six, but she's good that way.

I pull Eli firmly against me as I start walking. He's still thrashing, but I hold his head to my chest so he can hear my heartbeat and can feel the vibrations of my voice through my body, and I bounce him in a gentle rocking motion as I begin talking in a monotone. I learned a long time ago that the words don't matter as long as I keep up a consistent rhythm and avoid mentioning names that will catch his attention. So, I do what I usually do and describe what's around us.

"There are a lot of people here, aren't there?" I say in a smooth, even tone. "There will be a lot more coming, too. They're all here to celebrate fifteen years of the UCA. That's a country, you know. Your mother and great-grandmother and uncle and…." I hesitate, not wanting to say names that will make Eli look for the people they belong to. "And most of your faction helped found this country, so we're all part of tonight's anniversary celebration."

I look around at the gathering crowd, feeling a bit nervous at the prospect of giving a speech to all these people, but I continue in a level tone. "Your great-grandmother is going to start, and then your uncle will talk, and then I'll introduce your mother, as if there's anyone who doesn't know her, and then she's going to talk, too. After that, President Miller will say something, and then he'll give medals to those of us who stopped NUSA almost sixteen years ago.

My eyes scan the crowd, moving past my faction-mates and finally catching on Peter where he's standing near Christina and Uriah. "I don't think you know Peter," I say slowly, thinking about all the roles I've seen him take in the decade and a half I've known him and trying to figure out if he interacted with the kids in any of those. I'm pretty sure he didn't.

"The first time I met him, he was an initiate in Dauntless with your mother, and I was their instructor. That was long before your mother and I got married, and a really long time before you were born. Peter was…not a very nice person then, to be honest, but he's gotten much better over the years. I guess it goes to show that people can change, sometimes."

"Anyway," I continue in my monotone, "he came with us to this city to stop NUSA, and he helped us a lot more than I would have expected. After that, he worked with your mother for a while." I can feel one side of my mouth lift as I remember Tris reluctantly admitting that Peter was really good at the job she gave him. "And then he was your great-grandmother's assistant for a long time. After she retired, he became Johanna's assistant, so he's back and forth between here and Chicago a lot." I pause, still watching Peter, before adding, "I'm surprised he isn't talking today, but I suppose he's always liked to be just behind the people in power."

"And over there," I continue, grasping at another familiar sight in order to keep talking, "is someone else you haven't met yet. Her name is Margot, and she's been in the government since we first knocked NUSA out of power. These days, she's in charge of the country's roads and transportation systems. She's the reason you were able to sleep so soundly the whole way here – she filled all the potholes and repaired all the damage on those roads. Remind me to 'thank' her…" I mutter, thinking that Eli would be a lot easier to manage at the moment if the roads hadn't been quite so smooth. Still, he seems to be settling down now. He's not thrashing as much, and he's making the humming sound he typically does as he fights sleep, just before he gives in to it.

"They'll both be getting medals tonight too," I continue, keeping my voice even and still rocking my son gently back and forth. "And then, after the whole ceremony is done, there will be very loud fireworks that will undoubtedly wake you back up again and get you even more hyped up. That will be all kinds of fun."

Beside me, I see Abigail perk up with interest, and I realize that unlike her brother, she's listening to what I'm actually saying. I make a mental note to be more careful with what I utter while soothing Eli around her.

"And then we'll spend a few days exploring this city before we head back to Chicago. That should be interesting, since you haven't seen it before, and I gather they have a lot of new things to do since the last time your mother and I were here."

"It's kind of a strange place," I add thoughtfully, looking around again. "I remember when I saw it for the first time. It looked so big compared with Chicago, and there were people all over the streets, living in little tents everywhere. I couldn't believe how many people there were – more than I'd ever seen in my lifetime. And we couldn't talk to them, because they had been brainwashed by NUSA, and they were all dangerous to us."

Abigail is watching me with her serious expression, and I suspect she's thinking about NUSA versus the UCA and what she's learned about them both in school this year. She's in first grade now, and I know they've been covering some basic history in the last month, building up to the fifteenth anniversary of the country.

"That was a rough time," I add, talking more to her than Eli, but still keeping my voice smooth and level. "But we got through it. We figured out where NUSA was sending the brainwashing broadcasts from, and we went there, and we…stopped them. And then your mother served as the interim president for close to a year, while they figured out a new structure for the government and helped people to live better lives. It was a lot of work, but she did a great job. You should be proud of her."

Eli is starting to go limp now, getting heavier as fatigue drags his body down. Just a bit longer, and he should be sound asleep….

"That stage is pretty high up," I say calmly. "I don't really like heights, but it shouldn't be a problem today. I'm likely to be too busy looking at all those thousands and thousands of people to pay much attention to anything else. Well, except maybe the millions of others who will be watching on television. There's nothing like a small, friendly atmosphere to make it easy to talk." Beside me, I hear Abigail giggle, and I give her a quick grin.

Eli's head drops against me, his whole body relaxed, and I know he's finally asleep. I shift him to the side a bit so I can rest him on my lap as I crouch down next to my daughter.

"You and Eli will stay with George during the ceremony, okay?" I say gently. "You'll be on the stage, but off to the side where people can't see you." I point to the area where the curtains hide the side of the stage. "So, you don't need to be nervous."

She nods, looking hesitant despite my reassurance, and I add, "But you'll be able to see me and Mom the whole time, and we'll come get you as soon as the ceremony is over. Okay?"

"Yeah," she answers in her best brave voice, and I can't help but smile. Our society doesn't give aptitude tests anymore, but if they did, I'm pretty sure Abigail would score equally high in all five of the traditional factions. She's her mother's child all the way through, except I suppose in her appearance. She has plenty of me there, with her dark hair and full lips and deep blue eyes. It took me a while to stop seeing those eyes as Marcus', since I saw them far more often on him than on myself while growing up, given Abnegation's ban on mirrors. But now I see them purely as my daughter's, and I finally understand why Tris likes them so much.

"Daddy," Abigail whispers, her voice barely audible over the background noise from the crowd. "Can I ask you a question?" Her expression is serious again, and she's biting her lip the way Tris always does when she's stressed.

"Absolutely," I answer, meeting her eyes to show she has my full attention.

"At school…" she begins hesitantly. "Billy said something I didn't like." I raise an eyebrow, already not liking whoever this Billy is. Presumably, he's a classmate of hers. "He said that you brainwashed everyone in the country into loving Mommy. Is that true?"

I sigh, my eyes wandering over the crowd as I think about what to say. "There's no black and white answer to that," I finally reply, meeting my daughter's gaze with the admission. "It's true that I broadcast a message to the entire country, and I used Mom as a role model for everyone. And yes, that made people like her and listen to her. It also changed how they acted and how they treated each other…. You could call that a kind of brainwashing."

Abigail's face falls a little, and I know she doesn't like hearing that. I make my voice firm as I add, "But you have to understand what was happening at the time. NUSA was doing terrible things to its people, and we had to change that." I pause, trying to come up with a comparison she'll understand.

"It's like if you saw someone at school hurting someone else. You wouldn't just turn away and let them do that, would you?" Abigail shakes her head quickly, tightening her hands into fists at just the thought of ignoring someone else's peril. "Well, we were in the same situation. NUSA was hurting people – lots of people – and we decided to help. But the only way we could do that was to broadcast a message. The question was really just what the message should say."

I clear my throat before adding, "I chose to talk about Mom in it, because she was the best person I knew. And I put her in charge because she was smart, and because I was sure that she would never abuse the power. There wasn't anyone else I trusted enough for that."

Eli is getting heavy in my arms, and I shift him slightly as I continue. "I suppose history will have to decide if I was right or not. But I've got to tell you – if I were in the same situation again today, I'd do the same thing." I glance around at the crowd and add, "And I think most of these people would agree. Their lives are much better now, and they have far more freedom. They owe an awful lot of that to Mom."

Abigail looks down, nodding a bit as if she understands. But at the same time, I'm not sure I've ever seen her look so sad. It tugs at my heart.

"Is that why I love Mommy so much?" she asks very quietly, clearly struggling with the words. "Because you brainwashed me?"

"No," I answer quickly, suddenly understanding her concern. "No, honey, not at all. You never even heard the broadcast. That was _years_ before you were born. _Years._ " I wait until she meets my eyes again before adding, "You love Mom because she's your mom, and because she loves you, and because she's worth loving. No one _made_ you feel anything for her or for anyone else."

Abigail stares at me for a moment, weighing my words carefully. I smile a little as I add, "Sometimes, we just love people. Like how I love you, and Eli, and Mom. No one brainwashed me into that."

Finally, a small smile forms on my daughter's mouth, and I can see her shoulders visibly relax. I wonder how long she's been worrying about this. Probably all week, and maybe longer…. I guess that's the problem with having an intelligent and independent child. You never know quite what's in her head until her Dauntless side comes through enough to make her speak up.

"I don't think I'm going to talk to Billy anymore," she says, pursing her lips, and a chuckle vibrates through me.

"He does sound like a whiner," I comment drily. Abigail giggles, and I add, "But instead of ignoring him…maybe it would be better if I came and talked to your class. Sometimes, people just need to ask questions and get real information."

She considers that for a moment and then nods decisively. "I like that idea. Because Billy has been _really_ annoying, and he keeps talking about this, and that made Mindy start talking, and then _all_ of the kids started saying the same thing, and it's not fair." She crosses her arms to emphasize her frustration before adding, "Do you think Ms. Connor would let you talk to them all?"

I manage to keep my face serious to match hers as I nod. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she'll agree." I don't mention that teachers are always trying to recruit Tris and me to speak to their classes. It's not something I typically like to do, but I'll make an exception in this case. "I'll work it out with her." A smirk crosses my face as I add, "And if she doesn't agree…I'll just have a little chat with Billy sometime when I pick you up from school. I can be kind of intimidating, you know."

Abigail looks at me levelly for a moment, evaluating my statement, and I can't help but feel glad that she has to think about the concept. By the time I was her age, I was _terrified_ of my father.

"Mom is scarier," she answers finally, and a grin splits my face.

"Much scarier," I agree simply. "We'll sic her on him." I stand up, feeling the ache in my legs from crouching so long, and I take my daughter's hand in my free one. "But when you get older," I add, my voice dropping, "your boyfriends will have to deal with me."

* * *

By the time I rejoin my faction-mates, Eli sleeping soundly on my shoulder and Abigail staying close to my side, the ceremony manager is halfway through her instructions. She frowns at me before repeating the most important information I missed, describing how we'll cross the stage to receive our medals, and the order in which we'll go. It's not exactly difficult, and after I parrot her words back easily, she relaxes somewhat.

I suppose I can understand why she's nervous. This will be the largest anniversary celebration yet, with some 800,000 people expected to pack into the area to watch us finally receive recognition for our role in ending NUSA. And it probably seems strange to her that we waited to do this until fifteen years after our mission – more like sixteen, really, since the UCA wasn't officially founded until close to ten months after my broadcast.

It wasn't that no one wanted to do this earlier; the timing just never worked out. We didn't want to hold the ceremony unless all of us could go, and Amar wasn't up to handling the crowds until after the big fifth year celebration. So, we decided to wait until the tenth anniversary, since that seemed like a good round number. But when that rolled around, Christina was pregnant with Emily. She said she was willing to travel anyway, but Uriah was panicked that his baby would be born on the road with no medical facilities nearby, so we opted to wait for the fifteenth.

But I'm glad we're here now. Not for my sake – I couldn't care less about getting a piece of metal to validate my actions – but for the rest of our group, particularly Amar. That mission cost him a lot, and he deserves to be recognized for everything he did on it. The others do, too.

My eyes wander across them, remembering everything they did all those years ago. Anna didn't come with us on that trip, but she was unquestionably instrumental in our success anyway. She planned the mission and recruited people for it, including Amar, and she ensured we had the resources we needed. She even gave us her wedding ring to fund our journey. A smile flits briefly over my lips as I think of it on Tris' finger now; it wasn't easy to retrieve after we sold it in Pittsburgh, but I can be creative sometimes….

Lauren, Priscilla, and Doug didn't make it the whole way to Philadelphia, either, but they got us safely past the military forces in Toledo, and they kept the rebels in Pittsburgh safe. Without them, it would have been much harder to get the new government up and running.

Amar got us through so many things that went wrong, keeping us together and on task no matter how hard it got. And he got Tris to safety when they were discovered in the doctor's office. I swallow, remembering how he was forced to kill Pari after she was captured, in order to protect the rest of us. I'm still not sure I could have done that, but there's no question the entire mission would have failed if he hadn't.

Christina boldly faced every obstacle we encountered, never faltering despite her injured leg. We made it to the Control Computer because of her bravery and shooting skills in those last critical minutes. And Cara took care of us throughout, saving Lauren's life and probably Tris'. I can never thank her enough for that.

Caleb redeemed himself, braving dangers I would not have expected given how cowardly I thought he was at the time. And then he went on to play a huge role in building the UCA during the year after that. I watch him for a moment, thinking about how important he is in our family's life. For most of my childhood, I had exactly one family member, but now I have a wife and children and a mother and sister and brother-in-law and grandmother-in-law, not to mention friends who are as close as family. My life is far richer for all of them.

My eyes move on to Margot, and I think about how she kept us going through the entire mission, giving us a safe place to sleep and to plan and ensuring that we always remembered why we were doing this. And Peter made a huge difference too. We never would have reached the Control Computer without his ideas, and in the end, he and Uriah protected me long enough to start the transmission.

We probably wouldn't have made it without any one of them.

We wouldn't have succeeded without my father, either. It's still difficult for me to admit that, but I know it's true. As much as I hate him for what he did to Tris, and to me, and to my mother, part of me will always be grateful to him for leading the soldiers away at that crucial moment. He saved my life with that action. He saved us all, really. He'll receive a posthumous medal today, as will the others who died on the mission. I reluctantly agreed to accept his on his behalf.

I snap back to the present as the ceremony manager dismisses us, telling everyone to meet back at this spot in half an hour. But she gathers Anna and Caleb and me to give us additional instructions about our speeches. I try to pay attention, bringing out my old Abnegation habits, but she's really just making me more nervous as she keeps talking about staying near the microphone so everyone in the vast audience will be able to hear us.

This will be by far the largest crowd I've ever addressed in person, though I suppose it's not the biggest one I've communicated with in some manner. After all, virtually the entire population has seen my thoughts. In a way, that makes it easier to talk to them about Tris today. They already know what I think of her and how much I love her.

The manager drones on, and I'm getting ready to make up an excuse to leave when I see Tris heading toward us.

For a moment, I'm captivated just by the sight of my wife. She rarely wears dresses, but she's in one for today's ceremony, and between the flow of the fabric and the way her hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, she's more than a little striking. But what I notice most, as I always do, is the intensity of her eyes. Even from twenty feet away, I can see the energy in them, their blue-gray mix catching the light as she smiles at me. God, she's beautiful.

Sometimes, it still amazes me that I'm this lucky, that I'm getting to spend my life with the woman I love, with the family we've built together, and with closer friends than I could have imagined having. I don't think I'll ever take any of that for granted.

"Mom!" Abigail calls happily, running up to hug Tris. I watch them talk quietly for a moment before I excuse myself from the others and move to join them.

"Hi," I murmur, leaning down to kiss my wife. It probably shouldn't be this easy to ignore everyone nearby, but right now I can't help but just enjoy her scent and the feel of her lips against mine. She pulls back first, giving me a little smile before pausing to look at Eli in my arms.

"He actually looks small when you hold him like that," she says. I know what she means. Abigail was absolutely perfect when she was born, despite weighing a little less than six pounds. The doctors said that type of birth size is common when the mother is as small as Tris, and sure enough, she grew quickly afterwards and has been a bit taller than average most of her six years.

Eli, on the other hand, has always been big. He had to be delivered surgically, and he's topped the growth charts ever since. My mother thinks I was about the same height at that age, though there are no records to give an accurate comparison. The Abnegation always felt it was selfish to keep information like that. Still, it's a safe bet that Eli is on his way to matching or exceeding my height, and in the meantime, it's rare for Tris to get to see our son looking his age. I let her enjoy this moment.

"He was a bear to get to sleep," I say as I shift him to the side to change his weight distribution. "He really wanted you." As Tris nods, I add with a sly smile, "So, I think you owe me big-time here."

She chuckles softly. "I'm sure we can figure out some way I can repay you," she responds before standing on her toes to kiss me again. "Later," she whispers against my lips, and for a second I forget to breathe. It's exhilarating being this close together when we're in front of a crowd we'll be addressing soon.

But I pull away before I get lost in her presence. After all, Abigail is still standing next to us. Tris must be thinking the same thing, because she turns to our daughter again.

"Come on, Abigail," she says, taking her hand. "It's time to start getting in position. We'd better find George."

Tris links her other hand with my free one, and together we head toward where George and Amar are standing with Christina and Uriah's daughter, Emily.

"You ready for this?" I ask Amar, pulling my hand temporarily out of Tris' so I can give him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

"Absolutely," he answers firmly. But I look at his eyes, and the way he holds his mouth, and his body language, pulling on my inner Candor to ensure he means it. To my relief, everything about him radiates quiet confidence.

It took a long time for him to get to this point. The first months after my broadcast were by far the hardest, but even after that, it was incredibly difficult for him to be around negative emotions or anything remotely violent – or even to handle loud noises and unexpected events. I can't help but feel proud of him as he stands here, this relaxed in front of such a large crowd in a city that has so many bad associations for him. It tells me that he's truly recovered.

"Good," I answer, "because I'm glad you're here." He gives me an appreciative grin.

"You too, George," I add. Lightening the mood a bit, I continue, "We really needed a babysitter, and otherwise we would have had to _pay_ someone."

Amar laughs, but George gives me his best affronted look. "I'm not getting paid? That's it…. I'm out of here." He turns as if to go, and Abigail's eyes widen. She still has a hard time recognizing straight-faced humor, much to Zeke and Uriah's continual delight.

"No, don't go," she says quickly, pulling away from Tris to grab George's hand. "I don't want to stay with a stranger!"

I smirk a little, realizing it will now be considerably easier for her to separate from us for the length of the ceremony.

"Dad," she huffs, turning to me. "You need to pay him!"

"Hhmmm," I answer slowly, working to keep the corners of my mouth down. Across from me, I can see George struggling the same way, and I know this is turning into a contest of who can make the other laugh first. We seem to do that a lot in our faction.

"How about if I buy you an ice cream cone?" I say, gesturing toward the stand that I noticed earlier. "That's pretty good payment, I think."

Abigail's face lights up. "That's a good deal," she tells George seriously, and I can see his lips quivering now with the effort not to crack a smile.

"You think I should take it?" he asks her in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning down to her eye level. She nods solemnly.

"Okay," he answers deadpan. Turning to me, he says, "It's a deal." He shakes my hand firmly, Dauntless-style. "But you'll have to buy one for Amar and the kids, too," he adds, gesturing to Emily and Abigail.

I give an exaggerated sigh. "You drive a hard bargain…" I mutter as I pull out my wallet, juggling it around my sleeping son to remove enough money for all of them. George takes it with a wink before gently lifting Eli from my shoulder, being careful not to awaken him.

"You coming?" he asks Amar as he settles the toddler into place against his own chest.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Amar answers with an easy grin. Glancing at us, he adds, "See you on-stage, Four, Tris."

For a moment, my wife and I watch our friends depart with our children. Then, we turn as one, lacing our fingers together as we head toward the entrance to the stage.

"Did you get everything coordinated with President Miller?" I ask Tris.

"Yeah, finally," she says, sounding a bit annoyed. "He kept trying to add things that will help with his reelection campaign, and I kept saying no."

"Does he know yet that Johanna is running?" I keep my voice low to ensure we're not overheard.

"No." She grins. "I neglected to mention that little detail." Tris has held to a firm policy of not endorsing candidates in any election, since her word still carries a lot of power in this country. And I know she'll stick to that even with Johanna running, but there's no doubt that people will associate the two of them anyway. They've been seen together in public enough times to give Johanna an advantage that will easily outweigh any maneuvering President Miller pulls today.

Personally, I'm glad. It's not that Miller has been a bad president. I just think that Johanna will be a better one.

"Has she asked you to be her V.P. yet?" Tris asks.

"No," I say, startled. "Why would she do that?"

Tris doesn't answer immediately, since we've now reached the door to the back-stage area, and there's a guard standing by it. He nods to us in greeting as he lets us pass, and I lead my wife through the door and into the relatively dark area beyond it. It's quiet here – hidden from the crowd and temporarily empty of people. I stop, turning to face Tris so we can finish our conversation in private.

"Did she say she was going to ask me?" I'm still confused by the idea. Johanna and I have worked together on a number of occasions, but not so often that I'd expect to top her list of choices for vice president.

"No," Tris says with a shrug. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she does. She knows you'd be good at it."

_I_ don't know about that, but I don't feel like debating the issue, so I answer with an easier excuse. "I'm not quite old enough." It still amuses me that Tris insisted on a minimum age for most elected positions back when the government was being formed. I suspect she did it so no one would try to draft her into a position she didn't want, but it means that she still isn't old enough now to hold the job she had almost sixteen years ago.

"You'll turn thirty-five before the swear-in date, so you could run," Tris tells me.

"I suppose," I say with a bit of a sigh, scuffing a foot against the floor. "But I don't want the job. And I don't want to live in Philadelphia, and I don't want to leave all our friends behind or take Abigail out of her school. So…no." As I say it, I realize I'm certain about it. I will absolutely turn Johanna down if she asks.

In the dim light, I can see Tris nodding thoughtfully. "I can understand that," she responds, and I know that she really does get it. She'll never run for office, either, partly for the reasons I just gave and partly because she's done with that part of her life. She's put in more than enough public service, and she's never been power-hungry.

"Are you nervous about your speech?" I ask her, changing the subject.

"A little," she answers honestly, "but I'll be okay once I get started. The first minute is always the hardest." She looks at me and adds, "It would help if you'd tell me how you plan to introduce me."

A smile pulls my lips upwards. "Sorry, but you'll have to find out with everyone else." The truth is I haven't entirely decided what to say. I have a general idea, of course, but I do better with spontaneous talking in situations like this. It seems to bring out my courage more. So, I'm leaving the details to sort themselves out.

I pull Tris closer to me, my face just inches from hers now. "But I won't say anything bad," I add softly. "How could I when I'm talking about _you_?" I can feel her grin more than I can see it in this light. It sends little shoots of warmth through me, and suddenly I'm aware of just how close we are. Her presence seems to be vibrating through every part of me.

"Have I mentioned recently that I love you?" I whisper, breathing in her scent.

"No," she answers teasingly, "I don't think you've _ever_ told me that."

"Mmm, well, clearly I need to work on my communication skills," I murmur. My lips find the sweet spot behind her ear, and I feel her shiver lightly as I kiss there and begin pressing my way softly down the side of her neck.

"I am absolutely," I say with a kiss to the base of her neck. "Completely." My lips touch the first of her ravens. "Totally." They find the second. "And permanently." They land on the third. "In love with you."

She's quivering just a little now, her breath almost a moan. I cup my fingers around the back of her neck, trying not to mess up her hair so soon before she has to go on stage, and I pull her to me as I kiss her deeply on the lips this time. She wraps one arm around my waist while the other hand runs up the back of my head as she responds passionately.

For a long moment, we are far more wrapped up in each other than we should be this close to stage-time. Finally, we pull apart, breathing heavily as I rest my forehead on hers.

"I love you too, Tobias," she says. She runs a hand down my chest and over my stomach. "And I would _definitely_ like to continue this 'conversation' later, somewhere more private…."

A sly smile creeps across my face as I murmur, "I'm pretty sure no one would notice us in the middle of the stage."

She chuckles. "You'll do anything to get out of a speech, won't you?" She pulls away a little further, reluctantly I think, as she links one hand with mine again and resolutely turns us back the way we need to go.

"It was worth a try," I say, grinning widely. Tris squeezes my hand in amusement before pulling me into motion.

As we walk the last stretch toward the stage, I reflect on my conversation with Abigail and on what I'm going to say in my speech today. And as I think, the nervousness fades, replaced by the certainty that it won't be hard to talk about Tris or about why I gave the broadcast the way I did. It _can't_ be hard, not when I think about those reasons every day.

I lean close to my wife, warmth filling me as I draw from her strength the way I so often do. When it comes down to it, I made the same choice sixteen years ago that I've been making ever since, the same one that I know I'll make every day for the rest of my life and undoubtedly beyond. Over and over, I choose Tris. For me, that choice has changed everything.


	49. Epilogue 2: Tris – School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... This story has reached 2,000 reviews on the fanfiction net site where I originally posted it, as well as a number of reviews here! You are truly a wonderful group of readers to bring this story so far, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support. It means so much to me to see reviews continuing to come in for a story that I completed so long ago. Truly, thank you all so much!
> 
> In celebration of passing the 2,000 point, I'm posting an additional epilogue from Tris' point of view. I hope you enjoy it!

  
**Epilogue 2: Tris – School**

It's a brisk November day, and I pull my jacket more tightly around me as we walk the long route to Abigail's school. My eyes wander over my husband as they so often do, watching the way the wind plays with his hair. After all the years he kept it Abnegation-short, I still find it surprising sometimes to see the strands blowing in the breeze.

"You ready for this?" Tobias asks, giving my hand a squeeze as he meets my gaze. To be honest, he's right to wonder. I've certainly faced much larger and more hostile audiences than where we're heading, but there's something intimidating about the idea of sitting down with sixteen first graders to discuss how we changed their lives.

"I don't know," I mutter. "If we screw up, do you think Abigail will ever forgive us?"

Tobias just chuckles. "She's too much like you _not_ to."

It's always funny to me when he mentions how much our daughter takes after me, because I see so much of him in her. But I suppose that's our original faction showing through – we each want to see the other, because we love each other more than ourselves.

"Besides," he adds as we stop at an intersection to wait for traffic, "they're six. How dangerous can they be?"

"Hmm," I answer, my lips twitching as I remember my fear landscape from so many years ago. "I recall _six_ being a pretty scary number."

A small smile forms on his face as he pulls me closer. "True," he murmurs, brushing his lips along my cheek, "but I like it much better than _seven_ , so we should definitely talk to them this year."

This time, it's my turn to laugh. Wrapping my hands behind his neck, I pull his mouth to mine, letting myself lose all tension to his presence. By the time we pull apart, I feel ready to face the unknown yet again today. We've tackled it together so many times, I have no doubt that it will be fine.

* * *

It would be helpful if they had some adult-sized chairs, but we don't complain as we take our seats in the circle that Ms. Connor set up. It's not much of a problem for me, but Tobias looks more than a little uncertain as he perches on the tiny chair that seems unlikely to support his weight.

He's wearing his "Four" face as he moves his gaze over the kids, but they seem utterly unintimidated. Perhaps it's because he looks ridiculously oversized straddling his seat, or maybe they're all a bit Dauntless at heart, but they seem to like his tough guy look. It makes me smile to see the way they take to him.

"Okay," I begin, drawing their attention, "as Ms. Connor said, we're here to talk about what NUSA was like. And about what we did to stop them and to form the UCA. And about _why_ we did what we did."

I pause as sixteen pairs of small eyes look at me, and suddenly I have no idea how to get them to understand any of this. They've been studying the subject for the entire school year so far, as part of the fifteenth anniversary of the UCA, but that doesn't change the fact that none of them were alive during the time we're here to discuss. They only really know the world as it is now.

But I take a deep breath and begin anyway. "I guess we should start by telling you what the country was like then, since it was very different from how things are today." One of the boys looks like he wants to interrupt, but Ms. Connor makes a shushing motion, and he stays quiet.

"In today's world, we have many, many choices. We get to decide where we live – whether it's in a faction or not – and what job we have, and we can change that at any time. We get to see our families and friends whenever we want. We get paid for our work, so we're able to eat and buy clothes and have homes. We also get to go to school and learn, and if we get sick or hurt, we can go to a doctor. Back when I was your age, we didn't have all of that."

I look at Tobias, thinking about how his mother lived factionless for so many years. Perhaps he's thinking the same thing, because he nods before starting to speak. "Back then, there were only five factions, and everyone _had_ to pick one of them if they wanted to live a good life. You also only had one chance to pick – when you were sixteen – and you weren't allowed to change your mind after that. So, if you didn't like the faction you picked or if they decided they didn't want you, you were left factionless. Or you died."

A few of the kids look startled by his blunt statement, but he continues anyway. "And being factionless back then was nothing like it is now. You all think of it as meaning that your home isn't in a faction. But then, it meant that you didn't have a home at all. And that meant that you didn't have heat in the wintertime, and you didn't always have food. You also couldn't go to school or see a doctor." The kids shift in their chairs, muttering indignantly, and I find myself feeling proud of how difficult it is for them to imagine treating others that way.

My voice is quiet when I speak again. "That was our world at the time all of this began. I had grown up in Abnegation, but when I was sixteen, I had to choose where to spend the rest of my life. I knew that if I changed factions, I would have to leave my family and friends behind. Forever." Abigail's mouth opens a little, her eyes conveying a mix of horror and sorrow at the thought.

I clear my throat. "But as Tobias said, we only had one chance to pick a faction then, and we had to live with that choice for the rest of our lives. So, I knew that if I stayed in Abnegation, I would have to follow _all_ of its rules, even if I didn't agree with them. And I would have to be loyal _only_ to it – I couldn't _also_ be brave like the Dauntless or smart like the Erudite or anything else. _Only_ selfless." I shake my head sadly. "I needed more than that. So, I left for Dauntless, where I thought maybe I could be free."

Tobias reaches out, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. My eyes find his, and I speak more to him than to the others. "It was a very hard choice, but it shaped my life in a lot of good ways. It helped me figure out who I was, and what I believed in. And that I liked parts of all the factions, not just one. It's also where I met some of the best friends I've ever had." I smile a little. "And it's where I met Tobias. Without him…well, _everything_ would be different."

For a moment, I'm silent, thinking about all the effects of that Choosing Day, both good and bad. In many ways, it's linked to my parents' deaths. For a long time, I was haunted by their decisions to sacrifice themselves for me. Those choices almost destroyed me. And yet if they hadn't done what they did, none of us would be here now. NUSA would have wiped out the whole city.

Turning back to the children, I say, "But I think what I learned most is that we needed more choices. For ourselves and for everyone else. For all of you. And for everyone outside Chicago, too."

Clearing my throat again, I continue. "You see, it was even worse outside this city. There, most people were like the factionless were here. They were starving, and living on the streets in tents, and no one helped them. They didn't even help each other."

"Why not?" a girl in yellow protests.

Tobias answers her. "Because that's how they were taught to behave. Their whole lives, they learned to obey the rules no matter who it hurt. They weren't allowed to think for themselves. They were told lies over and over, and they learned to believe those. They were scared, and anyone who dared to stand up was…."

He pauses, apparently remembering how young his audience is and deciding not to tell them how many people NUSA executed. Awkwardly, he adds, "Well, they were punished, so they learned not to be brave. And finally, they were taught to only take care of themselves and to be selfish. Basically, they were taught the opposite of everything the factions teach here."

"But why did they listen to that?" a boy in Candor black and white asks. "Didn't they know it wasn't true?"

That's a difficult question to answer, and Tobias and I look at each other before I respond. "Do you know what a serum is?" There's a pause before several of the kids try to answer at once, and I realize that they must have covered the subject while learning about the Chicago Civil War – and Jeanine's simulation. Or maybe while studying Candor.

"Okay, well, they were given a serum that made them believe what they were told. It was kind of the opposite of Candor's truth serum. And the NUSA government sent messages right into their heads." I reach out, placing my finger directly on Abigail's forehead. "So, there was no way _not_ to listen to them. And they did that over and over, every day. The people thought it was normal, because it was all they knew. So, no, they _didn't_ realize it was a lie. They had no idea."

Tobias' voice is deep when he adds, "Our mission was to help them see the truth. We wanted to free them from all of the lies, and from the control that NUSA had over them, so they could decide for themselves how they wanted to live. But that was a tough thing to actually do."

He pauses as we both struggle to come up with an analogy that will make sense to these kids.

Finally, Tobias sits up a bit, an idea obviously occurring to him. "How many of you know how to read?" About half of them raise their hands, though some seem doubtful about their answer. "It's pretty hard to learn, isn't it?" He looks around the circle as some of the kids nod bashfully. "It takes time – and a lot of practice. And someone has to teach you. You don't just wake up one day knowing how to do it."

"That's right," I chime in. "Now, try to imagine if you lived someplace where _no one_ knew how to read. Where no one had even _heard_ of books, or writing, or reading. So, there was no one to teach you, and no books to practice with, and no pencils or pens or paper or anything like that. You wouldn't ever learn to read in a place like that, would you?"

A number of their brows furrow uncertainly, and some of them mutter protests, but it quickly becomes clear that they understand.

"If you had grown up somewhere like that," I continue, "and then one day, someone came and said, 'Hey, you're allowed to read now,' what do you think would happen?" I'm met with blank stares. "Would you suddenly know how to read?"

It's like watching light bulbs go on as their eyes light up. "No," they chorus together, before breaking into a series of enthusiastic responses.

"We would still need _books_."

"And a teacher."

"I don't even know how _now_."

I raise my volume a little to be heard over them. "Well, that's a lot like what happened in NUSA. People spent their whole lives learning to do what they were told. They never saw anyone come up with ideas, or make choices, or help other people. They didn't know that was even possible. And they certainly had no idea how to do it themselves."

I give them a sad smile. "So, Tobias knew that if he just went in there and said, 'You're free now,' it would never have worked. They needed to learn _how_ to do things differently."

Tobias nods. His voice is thoughtful when he picks up the discussion. "I chose to teach them by using the factions as a starting point. So, I used their own machine to show the people some new ideas – right inside their heads the same way NUSA sent them lies. But I told them the truth."

He squeezes my hand again. "I knew that I had to show them real examples of what the factions teach – show them a real person making those kinds of choices. That was the only way to help them understand." The side of his mouth lifts. "So, I decided to show them the best person I knew: Tris." Abigail lights up with pride.

"I showed them lots of things that she'd done – and _why_ she did those things. Whether it was to be selfless like the Abnegation, or brave like the Dauntless, or smart like the Erudite." His eyes move to children from each of those factions as he states their virtues. "Or kind like the Amity, or honest like the Candor. Or all of that together."

He smiles a little. "I kept showing them until they learned the same lessons that the factions teach. The same kinds of things all of you know." He focuses on the boy that Abigail pointed out as Billy. "I've heard that some people call that brainwashing, and in some ways it was. But everyone needs a starting point, and that was the best one I could give them."

He shrugs. "I'd do it again in the same situation."

Billy's eyebrows crease. "But didn't you make them all _love_ her?" He points somewhat accusingly at me. "And then put her in charge? That's what my father says."

The side of Tobias' mouth puckers in annoyance. "Not really, no. I showed them a lot of the good things that she'd done, and I told them to follow her example. So, yes, people wanted to like her and listen to her, but she _earned_ their trust and respect and love by doing a great job."

It's not an entirely true statement. I still remember the admiring looks that everyone gave me when I first took office – and even months later. Tobias spread his own feelings for me more than he intended. But that's not a discussion I want to have with this group of kids, so I don't say anything.

Ms. Connor speaks up for the first time since we started. "Do you remember what I said about how Ms. Prior ran the government? She could have made all the decisions herself, but she didn't. Instead, she brought _lots_ of people in and let them all have a say in how the UCA was built. And she made sure that we always get to vote for our leaders." She looks directly at Billy. "You might not like how she came to be president, but she did _not_ abuse the position."

Billy opens his mouth but then closes it again, nodding reluctantly the way the Candor always do when you prove them wrong. I try to suppress my triumphant grin.

"Why didn't you stay president?" a girl in mixed colors asks me.

"For a lot of reasons," I admit. "I was still very young, and I never really wanted the job in the first place. And it was _a lot_ of work. But it needed to be done, so I told myself that I would stay only as long as I was needed, and then I would leave." I lift a shoulder. "I stuck by that."

"Do you think you'll ever be president again?" the girl asks. Her eyes move between me and Tobias. "Either of you?"

We don't even glance at each other before responding in unison. "Absolutely not." The answer makes Abigail giggle.

* * *

It's Tobias' night to read our daughter her bedtime story, so I peek in on Eli instead, watching our son's peaceful face as he sleeps. He looks so much like his father.

At moments like this, it's impossible to imagine living the life that I grew up expecting. Surrounded in gray and not allowed to carry on a meaningful conversation or even to express much emotion. Marrying someone because it was the norm, rather than something I truly wanted to do. Teaching my children to force themselves into a mold that didn't fit any of us.

I'll never be glad that the wars happened, not given the deaths they involved. But I am grateful for the outcome of them. Somehow, we turned that horror into something good – into the changes that we all desperately needed.

Whether the children in Abigail's class believe it or not, their lives are far better because of what Tobias did. And because of what I did, some part of me admits. It will probably never be easy for me to accept that credit, but when I look at my sleeping son and think of all the choices he has in his life because of my year of service, I let myself feel a little pride.

"I love you, Eli," I whisper, feeling the full depth of that emotion toward each member of my family. I can't say that I ever expected to love anyone as much as I do all of them.

I slide out of the room quietly before heading into the master bedroom, starting to get ready for bed. Tobias comes in a short time later, wearing a small, amused smile.

"Apparently, after our program today, Billy actually apologized for being a jerk."

"Whoa…." I grin at him. "What will Abigail ever have to complain about now?"

He chuckles. "There's always Eli. She realized tonight that he got into her stuff a couple of weeks ago and stole her 'most favoritest ever' toy." He shakes his head, looking like he's not sure if he should be annoyed with his son or proud of him for getting away with it for this long.

I laugh. "I hate to tell you, but I'm the one who gave it to him. Abigail hasn't touched it in years, and Eli developed a fascination with it, so I just let him have it." I lift a shoulder. "Clearly, she didn't miss it much if she didn't notice until now."

For a second, Tobias just stares at me, and then the side of his mouth quirks. "Actually, she didn't notice at all. I thought she'd given it to him, so I thanked her for being such a good big sister, and then she got all offended that he had it." His fingers find my elbow, and he gives a gentle tug, pulling me closer to him. "I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

"Mmm," I murmur as I begin running my hands slowly up his stomach and over his chest. He _always_ feels good, but after the discussion today, his closeness seems better than ever. "That's what you get for being a Candor loudmouth," I breathe.

Another chuckle rumbles through him, and he leans his forehead against mine. " _That_ is something I have _never_ been accused of." He pulls back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You, on the other hand, have a history of stealing, so I should have known you were at it again."

It takes me a long time to remember what he's talking about – back when we took blankets and supplies from Candor just after escaping from Evelyn's clutches. Before I can answer, he shakes his head again, mock sadness on his face. "You should be ashamed, you know, letting a one and a half year old take the blame for you…."

I smile as I form another circle on his chest, finding it difficult to think of a suitable response now that his fingers are trailing lightly down my spine, sending tingling sensations through my entire being.

"You're right," I eventually murmur, standing on my toes so I can kiss my way along his neck. "I should have blamed it on Uriah instead."

His laugh is deeper this time, and he touches his lips to my cheek. "That would have been much better." His tone is low. "You can never go wrong doing that."

He presses one hand to my lower back, holding me flush against his body as he claims my lips with his own. "Think Abigail is asleep yet?" he whispers when we finally pull apart for air.

"Yeah," I breathe back, letting my fingers trail lower. The movement makes him grin, and then he's lifting me abruptly, carrying me to the bed as I try not to giggle too loudly. And as his lips seal themselves to mine again, I realize something.

I've spent my life thinking that it's the big choices that define us – picking a faction, or deciding when to battle, or surrendering ourselves to save others. But now I understand that the small, repeated choices mean just as much.

Every day, I choose Tobias, and our children, and our friends. Every day, I choose our life together. And every day, they choose me. It's those choices – the ones that we make again and again even though we have a world of other options – that form us into who we are.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! Your support keeps me writing and always helps cheer me up if I'm having a bad day. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who helped me throughout this story - and who reminded me that most first graders wouldn't have understood my original version of this chapter. :-)
> 
> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this second epilogue. Also, if you haven't read my other stories, please check them out.
> 
> Wishing you all the best!
> 
> ~ Windchimed


	50. Manifesto of the Kaizen Faction

 

**Manifesto of the Kaizen** **Faction**

**The Art of Continuous Self-Improvement**

We believe that human beings are by nature flawed but that we should never simply accept that as the best we can do. Instead, we must continuously strive to improve ourselves.

We believe it is not enough to simply be brave or smart or selfless or honest or kind. We must attempt to be all of these, and more.

We believe we must fight injustices whenever we see them, in order to continuously improve the society in which we live.

We believe we should never be limited by one view of the world but should always seek to embrace other perspectives and to learn throughout our lives.

We believe that we grow by building and doing and teaching, not merely by thinking and reflecting, although those are also part of growth.

We believe in recovery – in the capacity of an individual to grow and heal and become a better and more complete person.

We believe in accepting the best lessons from others and applying those to our lives while also continuing to pursue new ideas.

We believe in the power of forgiveness to help both the person who was wronged and the person who did the wrong.

We believe in helping others to improve, by supporting and nurturing but also by challenging when appropriate, because often the easiest path is not the right one.

We believe in growth as an individual and as a faction and as a society and as a country and as a world. We should never be content to be less than we can be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of my story. If you haven't reviewed yet, please take a moment to do that. Reviews mean a great deal to me - they help me improve my writing and always make my day, and I truly appreciate each and every one of them. If you've already reviewed/favorited/followed while reading, THANK YOU!
> 
> Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, for always giving me helpful feedback with a super-fast turnaround time; it would have been much harder to write this without you!
> 
> Some final notes:
> 
> 1\. Please check out my other stories. I have a number of "Determinant" related fics.
> 
> 2\. If you want to discuss this story or have any questions about it, you can reach me through my tumblr account at http windchimedwriter tumblr com (add punctuation - sorry, but this site strips urls and email addresses, so I can't post the real link).
> 
> 3\. For those who would like to print this story out or want to send it to an older-style Kindle, I do have a Word copy available that I'd be happy to send to you. If you'd like that, please email me at windchimedwriter gmail com (add punctuation in the obvious places, since as I mentioned above, this site strips real email addresses).
> 
> Thanks again for everything! You've been a wonderful group of people to write a story with, and I feel very lucky to have you as readers.
> 
> – Windchimed
> 
> P.S. Kaizen is a real philosophy that's often used within martial arts. I couldn't find an old English word that meant the same thing (continuous self-improvement), but this one seemed appropriate since three out of the four original founders of the faction were martial arts experts. :-)


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